THE SWISS PASTOE. 



« 




Church and Parsonage of St. Cergues. 



THE SWISS PASTOR. 



THE LIFE 

OF THE 

EEY. F A. A. GONTHIER. 



FROM THE FRENCH OF HIS NEPHEWS, 

L. AND C. VULLIEMIN. 



PHILADELPHIA: 
AMERICAN SUNDAY-SCHOOL UNION^ 

* No. 146 CHESTNUT STREET. 

NEW FORK: No. 147 NASSAU ST BOSTON: No. 9 CORNHUL. 

LOUISVILLE: No. 103 FOURTH ST. 



Entered according to act of Congress, in the year 1850, by the 

AMERICAN SUNDAY-SCHOOL UNION, 

in the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the Eastern District of 
Pennsylvania. 



4®=* No hooks are published by the American Sunday-school Union 
without the sanction of the Committee of Publication, consisting of 
fourteen members, from the following denominations of Christians, viz. 
Baptist, Methodist, Congregationalist, Episcopal, Presbyterian, and Re- 
formed Dutch. Not more than three of the members can be of the 
same denomination, and no book can be published to which any mem- 
ber of the Committee shall object. 




CQ 



NOTE. 



The present edition of the Memoir of that 
eminent servant of God, M. Gonthier, is sub- 
stantially copied from the edition by the Heli- 
gious Tract Society^ London. The principal 
change is, that the introduction by the Rev. 
C. B. Tayler, which constitutes the preface 
to the English copy, occupies the place of a 
conclusion in the American edition. 



LIFE 

OP THE 

EEV. F. A. A. GONTHIEE. 



TO THE FRIENDS OF THE PASTOR GONTHIER. 

You ask uSj as with one voice^ to speak to you of 
our friend. You claim a share in our inheritance 
of sad, sweet recollections. You were well ac- 
quainted with his life of continued trial, and would 
fain know something of the inner man ; you would 
have us speak to you of the Spirit of power in a 
heart so tender, yet so severely tried ; so weak^ yet 
at the same time so enduring. 

We will attempt to obey your wishes. Yet we 
entreat you not to expect from us more than we are 
able to perform. We cannot describe our friend as 
he really was. Had he distinguished himself in 
science, in letters, or in the strife of the interests 
of the day, the things we should have to tell, would 
be found already written before the eyes of men, 
in characters easily read. It is, however, of his 
inward life that you wish us to speak. You desire 
to read the secret depths of his pious and affectionate 

r 



8 



THE LIFE OF THE 



heart. But where is the heart to which anothei 
heart is really known ? Does not the spirit of man 
continually elude the comprehension of his fellow- 
man? Its life is motion^ nay, progressive motion, 
advancing ever towards infinitude. It may^ indeed, 
be said of those to whom the Lord himself has 
pointed out the high mark which they press forward 
to reach, that their horizon is far more extended 
than that of other men. Their view of human 
things is always more elevated. The air they breathe 
is too pure, their sense of feeling is too exquisite, 
the colours of their sky are too delicately tinted for 
us to be able to depict them. Do we at times sup- 
pose that we have reached their standard ? We find 
that they have already far sui^passed us in strong 
faith, in purity of conscience, in holy love. It is 
one of their trials on earth, that they should not be 
fully understood. It is one of ours to remain so far 
behind them. We may go still further. Could we 
be enabled to understand them better, it would still 
be as difficult to be faithful interpreters to them. 
How is it possible to describe the tone, the manner, 
which are the index of the soul within, without 
which the faithfully rendered words can give but a 
faint and faithless representation ? The very ex- 
pression of countenance, — who shall convey an idea 
of its evanescent character, though it portrays so 
vividly the deep and glowing feelings of the heart ? 
And yet we owe to you, as a debt, that which we 
have received from him. Circumstances of which 
we were the sole witnesses, words which we alone 
have heard, and which have taught our hearts many 
an affecting lesson — the record of these things is 
due to you; for you revered our father, and your 



REV. F. A. A. GONTHIER. 9 

affection was delightful to him, during the weary 
season of his protracted sufferings. It is right also 
to preserve to the church some memorial of a life 
devoted to its sacred service, and which may still in 
some manner serve it. This obligation, which has, 
indeed, about it more of comfort than of sadness, 
we will endeavour to fulfil. We will try to retrace 
some features of that character which is ever pre- 
sent to our thoughts ; and to recall him who was 
sent by our blessed Lord to be our guide through 
this our earthly career. 

There are some dispositions singularly gentle 
and tender, and extremely impressible ; alike fitted 
for exquisite enjoyment and for keen sufferings, of 
a sensibility soon excited and affected, and perhaps 
as soon exhausted. You know that notwithstand- 
ing he possessed such a delicate and lively tempe- 
rament, his countenance was at once calm and pe- 
netrating; his judgment was remarkable for its 
equity. He had a quick and clear perception and 
an astonishing discernment of character. But his 
distinguishing feature was the overflowing affection 
of his heart. It could be said of him, that it was 
necessary to his existence that he should have 
something to love. He was naturally formed for 
strong attachment, for filial love, for devoted friend- 
ship, for conjugal and paternal affection, for pro- 
moting the happiness of his fellow-creatures. He 
seemed to look for all his happiness in these enjoy- 
ments. He sought, in fact, for heaven upon earth. 
You know how he gave himself up entirely to his 
. friends, to his family, to the service of the church. 
Almost all these links were broken. He saw all 
those he most loved laid in the grave before him ; 



10 



THE LIFE OF THE 



and at length, worn out by sorrow, and by incessant 
labour which had far surpassed his strength, he 
found himself incapable of continuing his minis- 
terial duties. The most affectionate of human be- 
ings, he was forced from extreme weakness to give 
up the society of every one. We have seen him 
dying by degrees, alone, a prey to acute sufferings, 
and deprived of almost every thing which is gene- 
rally looked upon as enjoyment. But it was then 
that we were the witnesses of a glorious spectacle. 
We saw the development of his faith, we saw its 
increase, as it became more powerful, more pui'e. 
All that he had looked for in this world, all that 
he had expected from earth, he found in Christ 
with assured hope, and founded on better promises. 
He then understood that the design of his God, 
through the whole of his life, and the use of so 
many trials, had been the salvation of his soul, the 
purifying of his faith, and that he himself might 
be fitted for a happiness far above what he could 
ever have enjoyed, or even desired in this world. 

Perhaps your friend (though he seldom spoke of 
himself) may sometimes have transported you by 
his descriptions to his own paternal dwelling. 
Among the favours which he had received from 
Divine goodness, he placed in the foremost rank 
that of having been born of parents so worthy of 
their children's veneration and devoted affection. 
Our grandfather, though not a minister, was a cate- 
chist in the little town where he lived, where, also, 
he kept a school. Our grandmother — a few words 
of her son's will best describe her. I was saying 
one day to my uncle, that he had inherited his 
mother's mouth. " I wish it may be so," he an- 



r KEY. F. A. A. GONTHIER. 11 

!! 

! swered witli animation, giving his own application 
'I to my wordsj for she never failed to defend the 
i absent; nor did I ever hear a word of slander 
I from her lips/^ Every thing about the house re- 
\ minded one of old-fashioned manners, and of real 
! godliness. One day resembled the other, but every 
il day was well spent, and I do not think that either 
Ij my grandfather or grandmother ever wished that 
!; a different lot had been theirs. What the one 
i desired, was sure to be the wish of the other, 
j Their festival days were those on which they re- 
' ceived God's blessings; and they felt that they 
i received them every day. They noted down, how- 
, ever, most accurately, any occasions on which Grod^s 
i mercies had been more peculiarly vouchsafed to 
them. My grandfather wrote them down in a 
book, which was found in his bureau after his 
death ; and the anniversaries of such mercies were 
I always celebrated by them. Among them were 
written down the birth of their son, on the 21st 
of December, 1773; and that of their daughter, 
on the 13th of May, 1775. To these, another day 
was added, that of the last Sunday of the month 
of September, 1777; and the reason for so doing 
was thus noticed in the journal : — 

^^This year, 1777, has been a period of agita- 
tion and uneasiness. The smallpox has been mak- 
ing dreadful havoc in the neighbouring towns and 
in all the surrounding country. Numbers of pa- 
rents, even of those who had large families, have 
seen all their children taken from them. Some 
have lost their sight. With others, the disease has 
fixed itself in various parts of the body, and left 
behind it suc^ fatal effects as will most probably 



12 



THE LITE OF THE 



last for life. Those whose children had as yet been 
spared^ looked upon thenij with reason, as being 
between life and death; and such, as, after the 
attack, saw their children recover, felt as if they 
received them again from the dead. My wife and 
I having but two children, both of whom we dearly 
love, and never expecting to have another child, we 
could not but feel a like anxiety. 

When, on the 9th of August, the disease en- 
tered into our house, first by attacking our son, and 
a few days afterwards, our daughter, we no longer 
dared to hope that these dear children would be 
preserved to us. Yet, in thy great and unde- 
served mercy, 0 my Grod, thou hast spared them, 
and restored them to us. Blessed be thy name 
for ever ! Our son was fearfully ill, and had the 
disorder very full. He was four days without be- 
ing able to open his eyes, lying almost without 
strength or life. Those who came to see him tried 
to comfort us concerning his death, which they, as 
well as we, thought near at hand. 

^^We ought often to call to remembrance the 
mercy of God to us; and it is that I may endea- 
vour to appreciate it more thoroughly, that 1 have 
resolved to set apart for this purpose the last Sun- 
day in the month of September in every year, that 
being about the time when my children were quite 
restored to health. 

On this day I propose — 

^^1. To read over this account, and strive to 
realize to myself what might have happened to my 
beloved children. I will think of my son as given 
to me again from the dead, and I will return thanks 
to Grod for so great a benefit. 



REV. F. A. A. GONTHIER. 



13 



"2. God having preserved my children to me, 
I will reflect on the indispensable obligations I 
am under of devoting them to his service. I will 
strive to study their dispositions^ their minds, and 
what improvement they are making in wisdom and 
knowledge. It would have been better that Grod 
should have taken them out of the world in their 
infancy, than that, through my neglect, they should 
grow up in ignorance and sin. If God has given 
them to me, and preserved them to me, ought I 
not, in return, to offer them up to him, and devote 
them to his service ? When they are of a proper 
age, I propose to speak to them of the things written 
in this book, and of other things proper to lead them 
to dedicate themselves to their heavenly Father. 

"3. On this day I will give alms to the poor. 
When I am more at leisure, I will also make a 
point of visiting on this day, or as soon after as 
possible, my sick neighbours; and consider the best 
means of being useful to young persons, in remem- 
brance of God's having preserved my own children 
to me. 

" I do not bind myself by any vow to perform 
what I have here written down, for fear of break- 
ing it in one way or another. But this is the reso- 
lution that I make : I propose to myself to fulfil 
the duties which gratitude has imposed upon me, 
not merely on the day marked for that purpose, but 
I would profit by this day to bring before me, in a 
more particular manner, the wonderful goodness of 
God. 

May God in his mercy fill me with gratitude 
and love towards him for the blessings without 
number which he has showered down upon myself 



14 



THE LIFE OF THE 



and my family; and may he grant that this house- 
hold may be devoted to his service! May he re- 
new his blessings from generation to generation 
upon our descendants ; and may we all be united 
with him in heaven above I'' 

In this manner did our forefather express his 
pious thoughts ; and it was in this moral atmo- 
sphere that our uncle lived from his birth. The 
religious sentiments of his father and mother were 
the same : yet he soon perceived that the character 
of their faith differed in some respects^ and that 
they did not express themselves in the same man- 
ner. His father, who was of an ardent tempera- 
ment, looked upon religion as a solemn call to 
virtue. His more gentle mother received it simply 
as the election of the grace of God. His father 
was most forcibly struck by the perfection of the 
moral law, by its grandeur, and the holiness which 
it exacts. His mother loved to dwell on the 
promises of God^s love, and they were as food to 
her soul. This difference might almost be read on 
the countenance of each of them. The one ex- 
pressed thanksgiving; and the other zeal and ado- 
ration. Their faith in reality was the same ; and 
every difference disappeared when they prayed 
together. Their son thought that Heaven had 
united them, that their opposite dispositions might 
be a mutual help one to the other, and that the 
one might temper the other. ^^I was struck,^' 
he said to us one day, ^^to find this apparent dis- 
agreement between two beings so perfectly united ; 
I was witness to the blamelessness of their two 
lives, and it would have been difficult for me to 
say which surpassed the other in purity. I learned^ 



REV. F. A. A. GONTHIER. 



15 



amongst other things, not to receive, in religion, 
the conventional language of any system or form, 
as absolute ; and thus, from the contemplation of 
these two united but differing characters, I became 
enlightened on a point as to which we are too often 
in error, and was enabled to judge clearly and 
rightly in many difficult positions in my after-life/' 
This sober discretion was in him united to a 
disposition naturally full of ardour. It is rarely 
that we do not bring down our religion to the low 
standard of our own views; or endeavour to force 
it into a conformity to the narrowness of our own 
minds : and thus the beams of Divine light are 
often decomposed or broken amidst the darkness 
of the natural heart. Hence, alas, it follows, that 
there are as many different views, and as many 
parties, as there are leanings and varying incli- 
nations in the world. M. Gronthier had early 
directed his attention to this danger, and had care- 
fully kept up a watch against it in the inmost 
recesses of his heart. His efforts were crowned 
with such success, that a single-minded impartiality 
was the distinguishing feature in his religion. You 
are not ignorant how equally the Christian virtues 
were reflected in him, without any one of them 
throwing the other into the shade. Their influence 
equally pervaded his mind, his heart, and the 
whole tenor of his life. Every thing was subjected 
to this threefold trial. Whatever he said, 'no one 
could doubt that he had thought it, had felt it, and 
had lived it. From this proceeded his powers of 
persuasion, and the wide sphere of action which 
he was enabled to occupy. Others have brought 
to the church the tribute of higher powers; they 



16 



THE LIFE OE THE 



may have set forth, with greater lustre, certain 
portions of moral truth, or they may have arrested 
attention b}^ more splendid labours ; but I know 
not that there are many whose influence was more 
generally or more beneficently exercised. It was 
impossible not to recognise in him that wisdom 
which understands, which weighs, which concili- 
ates, which reconciles extremes, which abounds in 
good works, and which approves itself to the 
consciences of men by a Divine power. It was 
not easy to resist the words of one whose life was 
in such perfect harmony with them, or a voice 
so wise and at the same time so gentle. The most 
cultivated as well as the most simple-minded 
listened to him with equal delight. Few could 
hear him without feeling themselves touched on 
some point or other. Fewer still there were, who 
did not do homage, however involuntarily, to a 
religion so intelligent, so full of life, so pure, and 
which they saw could sanctify the soul without 
deadening its powers, ennoble the faculties with- 
out absorbing any of them, elevate to the highest 
things without leaving the lesser duties unfulfilled ; 
and shed over the whole economy of the moral 
man a spirit of improvement, of love and of peace. 
The education and the examples set before him 
in his paternal home were preparing his heart for 
the reception of the gospel of our Lord Jesus 
Christ, even as the field is made ready for the good 
seed. 

At the age of fourteen, he left the shelter of his 
father's roof, to pursue his studies at the col- 
lege of Lausanne. He himself may as well de- 
scribe the impressions he received at this period 



REY. F. A. A. GONTHIER. 



17 



of his life. One day wlien we were seated with 
him on a bench in his garden^ we asked him seve- 
ral questions concerning his studies and residence 
at Lausanne. He answered us nearly as follows : — 

At Lausanne, I had to breathe a different at- 
mosphere from that of my father's house. It was 
at the time when the philosophy of the last century 
was so generally prevalent. With its plans and 
principles for the improvement of social order was 
associated the most shameless immorality. I had 
scarcely arrived there, when, notwithstanding my 
youth, for I was still a mere boy, a student in the- 
ology, who professed a sincere regard for me, put 
into my hands one of the most licentious novels 
which the corriiption of that age had produced, in 
order, as he said, to keep me from being dull on 
my first arrival. My heart felt heavy within me 
as I read this book ; the tears gushed from my eyes ; 
I thought of the chaste purity of the home I had 
left, and feeling myself all at once deprived of the 
support I had hitherto experienced from the enlight- 
ened affection of my father, I sought earnestly for 
one who could understand me, and in whom I 
might safely confide. Such a friend I found, and 
I began to believe that I possessed all that I could 
expect from earthly friendship. Our studies were 
the same; our opinions were alike on most sub- 
jects; our future destination was also the same. 
Nothing would do, but that our lodgings should be 
under the same roof, and this was soon managed. 
We were inseparable friends. Who would have 
suspected that the day on which we took up our 
abode in the same dwelling, would be the begin- 



18 



THE LIFE OF THE 



ning of long and painful trials ? My friend was 
seized with a nervous fever^ which soon increased 
to a degree of extraordinary violence. You may 
be assured that I did not leave him ; I even con- 
cealed from his parents, as well as from my own, 
the danger of his state, that I might not be deprived 
of the pleasure of nursing him. I left him 
neither day nor night. I continued doing so, until 
I was myself attacked with the same fever, and was 
soon in as much danger as himself. For many days 
I remained at the very gates of death. My father 
and mother had given up all hope, when, against 
hope I was restored to life, and to their affections, 
and to my friend. My poor friend I in what a me- 
lancholy condition I found him. At the time I was 
taken ill, and in consequence removed from him, 
his parents had hastened to his bed-side, and while 
nursing him, they themselves were also attacked 
with the same disease. His father, his mother, a 
brother, and a sister, successively sunk under it; 
and he recovered to find himself almost the sole 
survivor of his once happy and healthy family. 
I felt that I was called upon to devote myself to 
him, and I mourned with him from my very heart. 
You would hardly believe that your uncle, as you 
see him now, had once handled a yard measure, 
and sold more than one piece of cloth : but my 
friend^ s father had been in trade, and had left a 
quantity of goods, which it was necessary to dis- 
pose of. I assisted him in the arrangement of the 
sale, the settling of accounts, and in various other 
labours; and perhaps the task was greater than 
we were equal to, in our great weakness. I often 
sunk, completely exhausted, under the fatigue I 



REV. F. A. A. GONTHIER. 



19 



( went through: and it is from this period that I 
may date the first failure of my health. It had 
j formerly been remarkably strong, but had now re- 
ceived a shock from which it never recovered. As 
to my friend, it was hardly to be wondered at that 
he should have yielded to discouragement. He 
had almost given himself up to despair. Neither 
of us had yet found in the gospel the only sure re- 
medy for human misery. Besides all this, one 
dreadful thought was gradually gaining strength, 
I from the deep sadness which inwardly preyed up- 
I on him; and this was the dreadful temptation to 
commit suicide. A single link seemed still to at- 
tach him to life; this was our mutual friendship. 
I I failed not to assure him of my undiminished re- 
' gard. He had threatened to attempt his life, if 
i I left him for a moment. I did not leave him. I 
never lost sight of him. Thinking that a residence 
in the country might be of service to his health, 
I obtained my father^ s permission to inhabit a small 
country-house belonging to him, not far from the 
town. We remained there several months. The 
more his melancholy increased, the more did I la- 
bour to win him from it. I was fearful every day 
that my parents should perceive the increase of his 
disorder, or the state of ceaseless agony in which 
I lived. The day came at last, when I could no 
longer keep up this system of concealment; my 
friend contrived to deceive my watchfulness, and to 
escape. He betrayed to others the disordered state 
of his mind. My parents, as well as the neighbour- 
hood, were soon informed of it, and they ordered 
me to return to them immediately. ' You must 
choose between him and us,^ said my father to me, 



20 



THE LIFE OF THE 



seeing my irresolution and my sorrow. I obeyed, 
but witb deep and heartfelt grief. 

I now resumed my studies, after an interval of 
two years. I had the work of many months to 
get through in a few weeks, in order to be able 
to present myself at the yearly examination. I re- 
ceived, in the mean time, however, several letters 
from my unhappy friend, who did not cease to re- 
proach me for having left him. His illness had 
had the effect of changing his affection for me into 
bitter hatred. One day, as I was walking with a 
book in my hand, in a wood where we had passed 
many hours, he appeared before me with his face 
deadly pale, and his eyes looking haggard; and 
taking out two pistols, he declared that as he was 
resolved to put an end to his life, he had sworn to 
do so in my presence, and thus show me to what 
a state my pitiless contempt had reduced him. I 
succeeded in arresting his hand ; and throwing my- 
self into his arms, I found words powerful enough 
to reach his heart. It was graciously given to me 
to prevail with him, and to see him in a man- 
ner restored to himself. He endeavoured to ex- 
act a promise from me that I would return to 
him. I answered him firmly, that he must be 
convinced nothing would induce me to disobey the 
positive commands of my father — and thus we 
parted. 

Many months passed away before I received 
the long-wished-for and welcome news of his entire 
restoration to health. He had during this interval 
made several excursions. Some men of talent 
about this time were travelling, by order of 
government; near our frontiers, for the purposes 



i 



' EEV. F. A. A. GONTHIER. 21 

j 

|i of science. He joined them; and the charm of 
;{ their society, the new food with which they 
I furnished his mind^ and the variety of objects 
'■ which engaged his attention, had diverted the 
. channel of his thoughts. I no sooner learned 
I this than I wrote to him, and so anxious was 

I to win back his friendship, that in my letter 
ij I opened my whole heart to him. I repeated 
j' to him all that had passed between us, omitting 
ji nothing. I called upon him to bear witness to 
I the truth of what I said, and entreated him to 
!' admit at last that my sentiments towards him 
j had never varied. My letter preceded me but 

a short time. I hastened to him in person. It 
! was indeed a happy day when I found my friend 
I the same as in former times, and we again took 
! sweet counsel together. 

I " I had at last found rest, after years of anxiety, 
I and together we resumed our beloved studies. I 
could now give myself up to them, without be- 
ing constantly haunted and disturbed by trou- 
bled thoughts. I needed this delightful calm, 
and felt the benefit of it, at this period of my 
literary education. 

Having nearly concluded my theological stu- 
dies, I had to answer a question which pre- 
sented itself to me in all its awfulness. ^Does 
God call you to the sacred ministry of his 
church?^ I was not ignorant of the great wish 
my parents had to see me enter into holy or- 
ders. I had acquired the pleasant habit of giving 
way to their wishes. But on this subject of deepest 
importance, I felt that though it was my duty 
to listen to their advice, it must not be a law 



V 



22 



THE LIFE OF THE 



to me. I solemnly resolved to lay aside every 
mere wish to oblige, and not to present myself for 
ordination, unless it were given to me to receive, 
without any reserve, the call of the gospel. I 
returned therefore to my studies, to solitary medi- 
tation, and above all to communion with God. 
How often have I retired to the wood of Sauva- 
belin, near Lausanne, and there, with the Holy 
Bible in my hand, have I remained reading, medi- 
tating, examining my heart, and calling upon Grod 
to witness my inward conflicts, beseeching him 
to answer my prayers for his Divine assistance. 
I prayed — I prayed much, and I waited. For 
many years I had lived far from the ways in which 
the child of God should walk. Brought up in 
my father's house with other youths, who, for 
the most part, were intended for a commercial life, 
I had insensibly imbibed a taste for it, and my 
future plans had all some reference to it. After- 
wards, during the period of my studies, I had 
given way to the ungodliness of the times, and 
had too much forgotten what I had learned in my 
father's house. While I was thus insensibly led 
away from the right path, it pleased God to make 
me pass through the days of suffering I have just 
described to you. A bright and clear light shone 
forth upon me from the depth of that darkness. 
I had sought for happiness in friendship, and I 
had experienced that all human affection, if apart 
from a holier, surer and deeper love, cannot satisfy. 
It could not have answered the end for which I 
was created ; and this is what the hand of the 
Most Merciful had just traced before me in cha- 
racters of fire. I read — I felt conscious that my 



KEY. F. A. A. GONTHIER. 



23 



ji soul was destined for higher pursuits; and my 
II heart was gradually converted to God. From this 
i time, my faith was a reality. I believed from 
j. my heart, and I then entered upon the sacred 
ministry. My Grod led me into that way, where I 
was at every step to find his hand. He had just 
ll made me experience, for the first time, what I have 
1| since done so often, that even in wrath he remem- 
j| bers mercy. 

It was thus that my uncle related to us his first 
' trials, the feelings which they developed in him, 
j and his entrance into the ministry of the gospel. 

From this time, and for several years after his ordi- 
I nation, his horizon appeared to brighten : a new 
I career had been opened to his activity. He had an 
end, and it was the noblest, to live for ; he had 
entered with holy trust into close communion with 
God, the covenant God of the gospel ; and he felt 
that henceforward he should walk by this blessed 
and cheering light. His father and mother beheld 
him with joyful satisfaction walking in the paths 
which they themselves had traced out for him. His 
appointment as stationary, or subsidiary minister, 
allowed of his settling near them. And from this 
time his heart, so long cast down, was cheered and 
comforted. Many new and delightful feelings shed 
a charm over his existence: he wanted nothing 
now but a companion to share his happiness 
with him. 

This was soon afi'orded him. At the Locle, in the 
mountains of Neufchatel, resided a family of four- 
and-twenty children, all of them belonging to the 
same father. Several of them were married, and 



24 



THE LIFE OF THE 



had children of their own. When the three genera- 
tions were collected together to celebrate any family 
festival^ they were eighty in number; they ap- 
peared then as an assembled tribe. It was from 
this numerous family that my uncle chose his wife. 
In Mr. Courvoisier^s house^ simplicity of manners 
and patriarchal habits were joined to that know- 
ledge and information which proceeds from exten- 
sive commercial connections. I will only say of our 
nucleus companion, what many among you know of 
yourselves, that she was distinguished by a simpli- 
city of character, at once noble and graceful. I 
have heard persons, who were in the habit of seeing 
her every day, say, that had she been blessed with 
health, they should not have known what gift was 
wanting in her. Some kinds of maladies give a 
precocious ripeness to a person's character. Au- 
tumn, summer and spring, appear to be blended 
together in the person thus afflicted ; so that, with 
mingled surprise, pleasure and sadness, we discover 
in them all the joyous elasticity of youth, joined to 
the sound judgment of a more experienced age. 
This was the case with Madame Gonthier. Her 
complexion of transparent clearness, the liveliness, 
yet softness of her manners, her lofty and pure 
expression of countenance, made one of us when a 
child, as he still remembers, regard her as one of 
those angelic beings described to us. as hovering 
between heaven and earth, and to whom all human 
passions are unknown. She was exactly the wife 
for my uncle ; exactly suited to his heart, and the 
chaste, yet ardent sensibility of his imagination. 
His attachment for her appeared to be as strong 
as it well could be; but she acquired a yet stronger 



REV. F. A. A. GONTHIER. 



title to it, when she made him a father. The 
mother of his little Louise, and his little Fran- 
coise, had opened to him a new world of happiness 
and delightful hopes. His gratitude to God in- 
creased as he received these pledges of affection. 
He was impressed with a feeling of respect and 
admiration, in witnessing the solicitude and devo- 
tion with which Grod fills the tender heart of a mo- 
ther. His wife and he were becoming every day 
dearer and more necessary to each other ; every day 
appeared to strengthen the bond of their union, and 
this union formed their mutual happiness. Short- 
lived happiness ! Years of transient delight I How 
soon they were to end ! 

A first trial was sent them in the death of their 
little boy. His fresh bloom, and his fair clustering 
curls gave a false promise of health to this child. 
He died when scarcely a year old. Their hearts 
were bleeding from this still recent wound, when 
another affliction was preparing for them. A storm 
was gathering, and it was one which was to strike 
deep into the heart of our uncle ; and which, be- 
coming more and more threatening, was at length 
to deprive him of his greatest earthly happiness. 
He saw its approach ; from this time he could no 
longer conceal from himself, that the lungs of his 
wife were attacked by a hopeless disease. Already 
he perceived that all his care to preserve a life, the 
springs of which were affected, would be in vain. 
He was only permitted to use every means to pro- 
long its course. The least fatigue — and now every 
thing had become a fatigue — the slightest change 
of the atmosphere, (and in Switzerland, the seasons 
change often very suddenly,) the return of winter 



3 



26 



THE LIFE OF THE 



especially, affected the poor invalid, and brought on 
fresh attacks of her complaint. The only hope that 
now remained, was from the effects of a more genial 
climate. Our uncle would have done every thing 
to save one whose life was more precious to him 
than his own. He did not, therefore, hesitate to 
leave his country, and his father's house, to seek, 
from a milder sky, the restoration of her health 
who was so dear to him. An appointment was 
vacant in the church at Nismes ; he asked for it, 
obtained it, and soon the carriage which contained 
his wife and child set off on slow journeys towards 
the south. 

When M. Gronthier became one of the ministers 
of the church at Nismes, (it was in the spring of 
1805,) France was but just recovering from the 
storms of the Revolution. In most places, the 
churches had been deserted. At Nismes, out of a 
population of fifteen thousand Protestants, scarcely 
fifty persons attended the ordinance of the Lord^s 
supper. We remember hearing our uncle say, that 
many young persons longing to approach the table 
of the Lord, and yet not daring to brave the shame 
of doing so openly, were accustomed to go to Ce- 
vennes, a distance of ten leagues, to receive, in a 
retired village, the bread of the holy communion. 
Amusements, the theatres, the labours of business, 
and above all, the stirring sounds of war, engrossed 
the minds of all. Every thing was as God to them 
except the Grod of the Bible. 

It will, therefore, be easy to imagine the diflacul- 
ties encountered by the new minister, who had 
come to live among them, full as he was of faith 
and zeal. His first wish was to recall the people to 



REV. F. A. A. GONTHIER. 27 

their spiritual teachers. 0 mj God/' he prayed, 
give to thy servant a voice, not less powerful than 
that which draws the multitude away from thee 
and that his practice might agree with the spirit of 
his prayer, he studied to preach as plainly, as win- 
ningly, and yet as forcibly as he could. He pos- 
sessed that which is the greatest help to eloquence 
— -faith. In his ideas he was not below his congre- 
gation. His imagination was inexhaustible ; his 
I thoughts were as lively, as quick, and as striking as 
those of any inhabitant of the south ; but his me- 
I mory was not good. As this caused him much 
' trouble, he imposed upon himself as a duty, to 
learn his sermons by heart so perfectly, that in 
delivering them this defect should not be a hinder- 
ance to him. " I never preached,'^ he said to us, 
without a threefold preparation : First, I engraved 
upon my mind the ideas and the expressions of my 
! sermons : secondly, I strove to overcome the faults 
of my pronunciation, and to acquire a slow and im- 
pressive manner, that the thoughts which animated 
me might reach the hearts of those who heard me ; 
my third preparation was, to make myself so com- 
pletely master of my sentences, that they might 
present themselves to my mind naturally, and in 
their proper order/' His memory from this time 
ceased to interrupt the freedom of his thoughts, or 
to make them appear in any way constrained. His 
style of preaching became free and persuasive ; he 
attracted the public ; the churches again began to 
bo filled, and the preaching of God's word was again 
listened to. 

But this was not sufficient. He felt that he must 
descend from the pulpit, and enter every house, to 



28 



THE LIFE OF THE 



preacli tlie gospel, and to apply it to the need of 
every one. To effect this, M. Gontliier profited by 
the custom which, in spite of the decay of religion 
in the church of Nismes, was still kept up there— 
that of calling the minister to attend at death-beds. 
This became the means of making him known 
among the families there, and gave him many 
opportunities of causing them to hear the words of 
prayer and exhortation. It became one of the 
ways by which he succeeded in gaining their confi- 
dence and affection. They soon came to him from 
all parts for the benefit of his advice. In one of 
his wife's letters, I find written, Persons are 
always coming to my husband to open their hearts 
to him, and to consult him on particular subjects, 
more especially on very delicate ones. More than 
once persons have come to him after the sermon, to 
make known to him their distress of mind, and to 
ask for his prayers. I wish you could see all the 
good he is permitted to do in this place. What a 
blessed calling is his ! one of reconciliation and 
love ! .... I sometimes say, that it is also a 
painful one, when we are anxious to follow it to the 
utmost of our power ; for there is no limit to occa- 
sions of doing good.^^ 

M. Gonthier's time was indeed so entirely taken 
up with the duties of his ministry, that a few of 
the evening hours were all that remained for him 
to devote to his wife and child. Some intimate 
friends joined them at that time. They were of 
the number of those who are dear to us as our- 
selves. Their affection had been of rapid growth ; 
but their devotedness to him was proved in the 
time of trial. This little assembly did not long 



! I 

ll REV. F. A. A. GONTHIER. 29 

I 

iji remain unbroken. Those who composed it were 
il scattered; but they have never ceased to live in 
iji communion with each other, and to feel united by 
I closer and yet closer bonds of intimacy; for they 
loved each other in Christ, and in the spirit of 
! holiness. My uncle has often spoken to us of his 
I friends at Nismes, but he never could express half 
y what he felt towards them. 

i|; You who were his beloved friends knew his Lou- 
l! ise. She also was your friend. When you saw 
(j her better, you shared his hopes with him; and 
when the disease again attacked her, you were par- 
) takers of his grief. You well know that only a 
i short respite was allowed her. Her sufferings re- 
1 turned, her weakness increased, and she was soon 
I brought to that state of debility, in which the 
: patient has alternate days of amendment and re- 
1 lapse. Such is generally the case in a lingering 
i consumption. You know the life of our good 
uncle during this anxious season. The day he 
I devoted to the manifold duties of his ministry, and 
the night to watching by the bedside of his dear 
invalid. This delightful privilege he never would 
resign to any one. Who can tell the bitter anguish 
of his heart at that time ? But who also can tell 
the secret happiness they were still permitted to 
enjoy in communion with each other, and in the 
unreserved confidence of a union to which nothing 
on earth can be compared ? Who, in short, can 
tell the still greater and more lasting comfort they 
found in the reality of their faith in Christ ? He 
has, however, himself partly told us something of 
j this, in a letter written by him on the 12th of 
j May, 1809, the anniversary of his great loss, to 



30 



THE LIFE OF THE 



a friend who had often asked him for some account 
of this mournful event. 

12th May, 1809. 

^^What a day has just commenced^ mj dear 
friend ! It was on this same day last year that 
the ties were broken which bound me to my 
sweetest friend^ to her who had the first claim to 
that endearing name. But do I say broken ? No, 
they are not broken. My heart will never cease to 
cherish my beloved wife. It will always be full 
of the remembrance of her. The eleven years we 
passed together in the closest intimacy have formed 
a bond between us which nothing can dissever. 
And did we not love each other in Grod our Saviour, 
with the earnest desire of being more and more 
closely united one with the other in him, and of 
meeting together, after this life, in his presence ? 
Ah, no, we are not quite separated. Perhaps her 
thoughts now cannot come down to me. Perhaps 
it is not given to the blessed to behold what is 
passing on earth, because they would witness too 
much sorrow, too much corruption, and because 
their souls might then be grieved by such contem- 
plations. Yet perchance they are permitted to look 
upon earthly things, without their happiness being 
diminished, because they see them from a higher 
point of view, and under a different aspect. Per- 
chance they may have the privilege of observing 
what is passing on this scene of om- probation, once 
the place of their pilgrimage, and of sympathizing 
with the friends they have left there. Perchance 
my own wife is even now beholding me. 

If she has seen me leave off writing to you 
for a while, to lift up my heart in prayer, beseech- 



REV. F. A. A. GONTHIER. 



31 



ing the God of all mercy to look in pity on my 
wretchedness, and to strengthen my weakness; 
beseeching him, above all things, to help me to 
triumph over all earthly temptations, over all my 
own evil propensities, over every thing that might 
prevent my re-union with her in heaven ; if she has 
seen the earnestness with which I breathed this 
prayer, perhaps her glorified spirit has rejoiced in 
the sight, and from her blessed abode she is smiling 
on me. 

^' But a veil is drawn before the nature and 
extent of our present connection. This veil was 
necessary, since it exists, (for there is wisdom in 
every decree of the Most High;) I cannot with- 
draw it. Yet I feel my soul still as closely united 
to hers, and I cannot think, therefore, that hers can 
be completely estranged from every thing that con- 
cerns mine. At least I know that if she can no 
longer return to me, I can, through the great 
compassion of our blessed Saviour, go one day to 
her, to the place where she abides, where there 
will be no more sorrow, no more tears, but all 
will be perfect bliss, and I shall be reunited to her 
for ever. What power there is in this thought to 
support me, to heal the deep wound of my heart I I 
shall surely have strength to collect together the 
circumstances of her last hours, which you have 
so long asked for, my dear friend, and which I have 
reserved till now, to tell you. . The remembrance 
of them is very painful to me, yet it is softened 
by the thoughts of her firmness, her calm com- 
posure, her deep piety and her truly Christian 
resignation. 

" You know, that sometimes when death is 



32 



THE LIFE OF THE 



about to inflict its last blow, it seems to delay it 
for a time ; and tbe sick person, to all appearance, 
revives for a short season. It was thus during the 
last night that she remained upon earth ; she found 
herself a little better than on the days and nights 
preceding ; she gained a little strength, and I 
blessed Grod most fervently. I besought him with 
earnestness to improve this change. She slept lit- 
tle, but she was less agitated. I read to her, at 
different times, some chapters in the Holy Scrip- 
tures. The reading of them had become the chief 
desire of her soul, and its greatest comfort. 
Her calmness, however, was not of long duration. 
Towards morning, her most dreadful sufferings 
began. These words escaped her lips — ^ Happy 
are those who enjoy rest !^ She pronounced them 
in so calm and gentle a manner, that they could 
only be regarded as the aspiration of a devoted 
spirit seeking its God, and lifting its thoughts to 
the mansions of eternal rest, and not in the slightest 
degree as a murmur. Nevertheless her soul ap- 
peared to reproach itself for having suffered even 
these words to escape; so near was she to heaven. 
They seemed to her not sufficiently in unison with 
that perfect resignation to God's will, to which she 
had been enabled to habituate herself, and which 
led her not to wish, even in thought, that one of 
her sufferings, sent as they were by her heavenly 
Father, should be spared her. She told me, she 
wished to be left a few moments entirely to her 
own thoughts, and to communion with God. After- 
wards she said to me, ' Now I have prayed ; and, 
blessed be God, I hope from this moment to be 
free from every inquietude/ With what an expres- 



Ij REV. F. A. A. GONTHIER. 33 

j! sion did ste accompany these words ! an expression 
j of deep humility and of holy calm. Her agonies 
■ increased. About eight o^clock, she asked to see 
I her little girl^ her beloved child, to whose education 
ji she had devoted herself in the most affecting man- 
ij ner, notwithstanding her weakness. I told her that 

Madame D had just taken her home with her, 

but that I would send for her instantly. She 
j thought a moment, then said, ^ No ; it is better she 
|i should not see me.^ This dear child, just herself 
jl recovered from a serious illness, was still very 
|| weak : her mother feared that the sight of her 
!| would occasion too great a shock to the little girl; 
i- and at once sacrificing, as was her constant habit, 
I her own gratification to the good of others, she 
resolved to deprive herself of a consolation so 
' natural and so delightful ; that of beholding, for 
I the last time on earth, her beloved child. I in- 
sisted that she should be brought to her, if only 
for a moment. ' No / she answered, ' it is better 
not, my dear husband, you know all I would say, 

you will tell her all .... ^ 

" Oh, yes ! / know all, and you also, my dear 
i friend, know what a mother my child had. I 
will strive to make her feel this. / hnow that the 
first wish of her heart was to dedicate the precious 
I charge committed to her, to the service of God her 
j Saviour and to prepare her for eternity. And I 
I will go on with the work which she has begun with 
I such zeal and such wisdom. Were I not to be 
I diligent in the performance of this duty, how un- 
I worthy should I be of that confidence which my 
j blessed wife reposed in me at her last hour. 
' " Alas ! her strength was rapidly decreasing. 



i 



34 



THE LIFE OF THE 



She now spoke witli great difficulty ; but her eyes 
were raised to heaven, and appeared to brighten, as 
with a foretaste of the perfect happiness which there 
awaited her. She opened her lips; my whole soul 
was watching to catch her words. She said, ^ Death 
.... Grod .... heaven V Thus in the extremity 
of her weakness, she sought to prepare me for the 
blow which awaited me ; to comfort and strengthen 
my soul, and to keep me from an excess of grief. 
Her sufferings were at times very severe : my heart 
was pierced at beholding them, ^ Ah !^ she said, 
with a calm peacefulness known to the child of Grod 
alone, ' what are my sufferings to those of my Sa- 
viour !^ 

^' For a short time, she appeared to revive a lit- 
tle. She felt it was but for a very short time; 
and her strong affection for her relations, her 
friends, and for her husband, would not allow her to 
lose these moments. ^ Listen to me, my love,' she 
said ; then with a voice slow indeed, but clear and 
firm, she charged me to make her most affectionate 
farewell to every individual of my family, of her 
own, and to each and all of our common friends. 
Her strength failed her for a time ; she was unable 
to proceed. Soon after she continued, ' My love, 
lift up my arms.' I lifted them up, and she put 
them round my neck. Oh ! how can I describe to 
you what I then felt, when so many and such 
various feelings rent my heart, and pierced to the 
inmost depths of my soul ! ' My beloved/ she 
said, with an expression of tenderness impossible to 

describe, ' my admirable husband, I thank 

you for all your goodness to me; .... God will re- 
pay you : I cannot — I never could.' Ah ! 



I 



!| REV. F. A. A. GONTHIER. 35 

^ far from this, it was I who owed every thing to her. 

All that a human being could experience of happi- 
' nesS; I had known with her. Her arms were still 
; around me, and in the inexpressible sorrow which 
i filled my heart, feeling unable to sustain myself in 
i my own strength, I called upon Him who is ever 
I ready to help us, to strengthen my weakness. I 
I prayed aloud for her and for myself. We remained 
!j thus, our hearts close to each other, for the last 
ij time uniting together in Christian communion. 
I When our prayer was ended, I said, to soften the 
i agony of these moments, ^My beloved wife, per- 
'! haps the Lord will grant us yet again to love him, 
f and pray to him together on earth.' ^ I do not 
I think it,' she answered; ^ but if He should, we 
i would assist each other, would we not, my beloved ? 
I to purify our hearts, with his all-powerful help, 
i from every earthly motive, and, in all we do, to 
i have a single eye to his glory. This is the one 
thing needful. Every thing else is but vanity.' 
May these words be for ever engraven upon my 
soul ! They were the last legacy of my dying 
wife, and by them the Lord seemed to make a 
solemn appeal to my soul, calling upon me to seek 
him above all things. May he in his mercy help 
me, for without him I can do nothing ! 

^^My wife now appeared to undergo less positive 
suffering ; her strength was likewise failing fast. 
Who that had seen her in these last moments, and 
had beheld her sorrowful expression when she 
turned to me, and her calm peacefulness when she 
looked towards heaven, and the foretaste of ever- 
lasting happiness which appeared to be given to her 
spirit in the midst of her suffering, — who that had 



36 



THE LIFE OF THE 



seen this would not have felt how great are the 
privileges of the child of Grod ? 

'Slj dearest love/ I said to her, ^ has not our 
most earnest desire ever been to be united in the 
faith of our common Saviour, not only for time, 
but for eternity ^ Oh ! yes, for eternity,^ she 
answered, raising her eyes to heaven, as if to say, 
* I go to wait for thee there/ 

^' Her last hour drew nigh, and yet she found 
strength to speak a few more words to me. She 
gave me a last kiss. Alas ! I felt the cold chill of 
death already on her lips. Once more those lips 
unclosed ; it was to breathe out, though with diffi- 
culty, the sacred name of ^ Jesus Christ She 
could say no more. Her blessed Saviour, who 
heard this her last appeal to Him, called her, and 
received her redeemed and purified spirit, to dwell 
with him in everlasting happiness, and reunited her 
to that dear child who had gone before her. 

I remain behind in this place of pilgrimage 
and trial, with her dear surviving child. I have 
still duties to fulfil. ... 0 my friend, I beseech you 
pray for me, that I may receive help from Grod, and 
not be found wanting in devotedness to my charge : 
so that, after having lived a life like hers, I may 
die as she died, and at length restore to her the 
beloved child she has left with me 

His little girl was ten years of age when she 
thus became the only earthly comfort to her father, 
and the object of his most devoted afi'ection. 
Though so young, she was an intelligent little 
companion to him. Her home education, the con- 
versation and the example of her parents, and 
the touching and mutual affection which united 



REY. r. A. A. GONTHIER. 



37 



them J and illness still more than education, had 
developed prematurely the qualities of her heart 
and mind. Her feelings were very acute. The 
gentleness of her disposition was joined to a live- 
liness which she had much difficulty in subduing. 
Some time after the death of her mother, she 
acquired the habit of writing every two or three 
days, and regularly at the end of each week, a short 
journal of her life. In it she notes down every 
thing she does, gives an account of all she reads, 
of her walks with her father, of all she saw, felt 
and observed. She watches strictly over her own 
conduct, blames herself for the faults she com- 
mits, and appears in every thing to consult the 
happiness of the parent to whom she owed far 
more than her existence. Some extracts from this 
journal will serve to show us what he was to her, 
and what she was to her father. It begins on the 
4th of May, 1809. 

^' When 1 have passed the day in a rational man- 
ner, it does make me feel so happy, and it does my 
dear father so much good; and I am sure he needs 
it, especially at this time. Ah ! if I do not behave 
well for my own sake, I ought for his, and in 
remembrance of my dear mother, who always tried 
to make him happy. I feel how much I ought to 
do for him, after the sad loss he has met with, and 
after all the care he has taken, and still takes of me 
every day. How many reasons I have for trying to 
be good ! 

Friday, 12th May. I will try to begin from 
to-day, without putting it off any longer, a life 
which may give real pleasure to my dear father. 
Yes, I promise him to do so on this day, which 
4 



38 



THE LIFE OF THE 



brings with it so many recollections of my dear 
mother. I will try to fulfil the wish of her heart, 
and which has now become the wish of mine also, 
to do every thing to please him, at least as far as 
lies in my power. I will strive to overcome all my 
bad habits, that I may not be so unworthy of all 
the pains my dear mother took with me while she 
lived, forgetting herself, and thinking only of me ; 
and also of all the care which you take with me 
too, my very dear father. 

"Tuesday, 6th June. I was in my good place 
to-day, both morning and evening. But I forgot to 
say what my good place was. When father has 
been pleased with me on account of my temper, my 
work, and when I have not hesitated once in any of 
my lessons, then I sit by his side at table, and not 
opposite to him, as I sometimes do. 

"Tuesday, 27th June. I behaved well morning 
and evening, and I sat near dearest father at table. 
Well, and what has it cost me? A little more 
watchfulness over my temper, and a little more 
care about my lessons. And have I not been well 
repaid, not only during the time that I was striving 
with myself, but afterwards, by seeing father 
pleased, and more than all, by the pleasant thought 
that I had done what was right ? 

"Friday, 22d September. There has been such 
a very beautiful sunset this evening. The sky was 
at first of a clear yellow, and then there came a 
soft cloud, of the same colour, which gradually 
spread itself over the whole space of the heavens. 
As the sun disappeared, the whole changed to the 
most delicate rose colour, and looked so very 
beautiful through the willows. 



REV. F. A. A. GONTEIER. 



39 



Tuesday, 23d January. I have been ill with 
a cold and fever, but I thank God I am now fast 
recovering. Father, as in all my other illnesses, has 
devoted himself entirely to me. He alone sat up 
with me every night during my illness, which lasted 
a long time, indeed he never left me all the time, 
nor does he leave me now, except to attend to his 
duties. We walk out together from twelve till one 
o'clock, and father always leaves his studies at that 
time, when the weather is fine, though it is at the 
hour he generally feels most disposed to read and 
write.^' 

The journal here gives an account of a journey 
into Switzerland, which they took in the spring. 
Louise describes, in a lively manner, the delight 
that she felt in beholding so many interesting 
objects, and in the new impressions she received. 
The love of her relations and of her father's 
friends towards her affected her deeply. She was 
very sorry to be obliged to leave them. She says, 
I must leave them, and even for some years ; but 
though this time may appear long to me, it will 
soon pass. I shall spend it with father. We shall 
write to each other. These separations will not 
last for ever. A time will come when there will be 
no more partings, and when those who belong to 
God will dwell together in everlasting happiness. 
I leave you therefore, my dear relations, with less 
regret. I shall see you again, and perhaps in two 
years. 

From Monday, the 3d, to Saturday, the 13th 
of September. I was taken ill with a fever at 
Lyons, which kept us there ' twelve days ; and 
during that time my dearest father nursed me in 



40 



THE LIFE OF THE 



his usual way^ that iS; he quite forgot himself and 
thought only of me. 

Monday^ 29th September. I have had the 
pleasure of receiving a beautiful little Canary bird, 
which Mademoiselle Meynier has been kind enough 
to rear for me while I was in Switzerland. I pro- 
mise father^ in this journal^ to take great care of 
it, to clean out its cage very often, and to mind 
and keep the door shut ; as I know that, when any 
one has been so kind as to give me a bird, it is not 
right, at the end of a few days, when it is no 
longer a novelty, to neglect it, or not to attend to it 
quite as carefully as at first. 

Saturday, 13th October. Father has been good 
enough this week to rent a very pretty garden near 
our house, and yet in the country. From the 
terrace of the garden we have a beautiful view. 
There is also a charming summer-house, plenty of 
shade, many kinds of fruit, and a very pretty ar- 
bour. I ought to be very grateful to father for 
being at so much expense for me. 

Saturday, 27th October. Yesterday was my 
birthday. I have entered my thirteenth year. In- 
deed, when I think how old I am, I am alarmed 
at the thoughts of how much I shall have to do 
when I again begin my lessons, to make up for 
lost time. Let me at least, till then, try and do 
what I am allowed to do well and diligently. I 
think I am trying to do this. 

^'Winter has set in during the last four days. 
I am writing by the fireside, and very glad to be 
there. I comfort mjself with the thought that 
even in winter we shall have some fine days. Be- 
sides, is not every thing ordered by the wise and 



REV. F. A. A. GONTHIER. 



41 



good providence of Grod, who is ever watching over 
his creatures ? 

Thursday, 18th April. Yesterday the weather 
was so very sultry, that from the dryness of the 
earth, the dust in the roads, and the great heat of 
the sun, we might have fancied ourselves in the 
middle of summer. To-day it is raining, and the 
rain will do a great deal of good to the garden, 
if the cold does not return, and if the fine days 
do.^^ 

Gentle child, the fine days were never to return 
to thee! These concluding lines in the journal 
were the last that she ever wrote in it. Louise, 
my sister — for you called me your brother — young 
as you were, your grave was prepared for you; 
! your place below, in your mother's grave, was 
I marked out for you, and your place above, near 
that mother in heaven. I feel such perfect faith 
in the mercy of God that I fully believe this. 
And he whom we both called our father, he whose 
comfort and delight you were, he was no longer 
permitted to hear the sound of your voice on earth. 
He watered with his tears the fresh earth which 
covered your mortal remains. His heavy grief so 
bowed him down at first, that he could scarcely 
lift up his eyes to heaven ; nor was it till after the 
lapse of many days that he was able to give utter- 
ance to his feelings, in the following letter, writ- 
ten to the intimate friend of his wife."^ 



^ Louise died at Montpellier, whither her father had 
taken her to consult a distinguished physician. Like 
Young, the poet, he brought the body of his child back 
in its coffin. A few days afterwards he ascended the 
pulpit, and preached on Abraham's offering up Isaac. 



42 



THE LIFE OF THE 



2Sd June, ISn. 
This has been a trying week to me^ my kind 
friend. Every day has been a day of sorrow; and 
alas ! what have I now to look forward to ? An- 
other trial has been added to those formerly sent 
to me. I had lost my son. I had lost his be- 
loved mother. My last remaining comfort, my 
only daughter^ has been taken from me. They 
are all gone^ and I am left in wretched loneliness^ 
separated for ever upon earth from all those be- 
ings whom I loved so very dearly. Without the 
gospelj what would now become of me ! Were I 
not a Christian, or, rather, did I not earnestly de- 
sire to become one, as much in heart and practice 
as I am in faith — did not this earnest desire ani- 
mate my heart, how unbearable would existence 
now be to me ! 

"But I most earnestly beseech the Lord to 
grant me such a measure of his grace, that the 
trials he has thought fit to send me may not find 
me rebellious against his purposes concerning me, 
and that from this day they may draw me nearer 
to him ; that they may be the means of showing 
me the nothingness of all the joys of this world, 
and destroy the vile and earthly feelings of my 
heart. If he, in his mercy, should grant this my 
prayer, I feel there will still be peace for me in 
this world. 

" 0 my friend, pray for me. Implore the Fa- 
ther of mercies to order the rest of my life accord- 
ing to these my present purposes. Entreat him 
to give me the fulness of his strength, which is 
made perfect in our weakness. Pray that from 
this moment he will condescend to put into my 



REV. F. A. A. GONTHIER. 



43 



heart those thoughts and feelings most pleasing in 
his sight. 

^^May the holy resignation of Job and of David 
he also mine ! The godly obedience of Abraham be 
also my obedience ! The sacrifice has not only 
been commanded, it is already accomplished. Oh 
that I may humbly bow to the will of the Most 
High without a single murmur ! Do I not know 
that his thoughts are not as our thoughts^ and that 
his ways are far above our ways ? Do I not know 
that he has proved himself a Grod of mercy to my 
Louise, and to my two children, in removing them 
from the miseries of this life, and taking them to 
himself ? Shall I repine at the happiness they are 
enjoying? Shall I think only of myself? Eather 
let me bless the all-wise and merciful Grod, that, in 
portioning out our sorrow and happiness, he has 
appointed that the happiness should fall to the lot 
of those dear objects of my affections, and the 
sorrow to me alone ; yes, to myself alone, to whom 
they seemed so necessary, and to whom the loss 
of them may be made so profitable, unless the end 
which the Lord hath in view is defeated by my 
own wilfulness. 0 my friend, those dear ones are 
now under the shadow of his wings, fed with the 
best things from his mansion, filled with those 
pleasures which are at his right hand for evermore ! 
Blessed thought ! May it continue to support 
my heart ! May it become my consolation ! It 
is perhaps the only happiness I can now enjoy on 
earth. 

0 my Louise ! 0 my children ! Have you met, 
and have you recognised each other ? I will hope 
so. I see you all united, loving one another with 



4U 



THE LIFE OF THE 



a perfect love, wMcli can never again be disturbed, 
whicli can dread no more a separation; loving one 
another in the very presence of God your Saviour, 
and united together in him, filled with that fulness 
of love for him which forms the glorious happiness 
of those in heaven. Oh that I could feel this love 
while here below, at least as far as our present 
weakness will allow ! I know that it is to pre- 
pare my heart for the reception of this love, that 
Grod has thus tried me. He designed to show me 
the littleness of earthly things, and to make me 
feel deeply that there is for us but one thing need- 
ful — but one good part, which can never be taken 
away, and that I must, before all things, desire it, 
ask for it, and seek it. How much I need your 
prayers, that the end which God has purposed in 
sending me my trials may not be lost through my 
senseless neglect 

The friend of his wife thus replied to him : I 
entreat you to remember the affecting words of 
your dear child, a few weeks before her death. ^ I 
love you, dear father, as much as I can love any 
one ; but I feel this is not enough for all you have 
done for me. Happily, my heart grows larger 
every day.' It was God himself who put such 
thoughts into her heart, and he has reserved to 
himself the work of perfecting at once her enlight- 
ened spirit. No, you are not parted; or, if you 
are, it is but for a little time compared with the 
eternity which awaits you.'' 

Fifteen years after this event, my uncle, in talk- 
ing to us one day without any reserve, let these 
words escape his lips : I am sure that it was on 
those two days, on the 12th of May and the 17th 



REV. F. A. A. GONTHIER. 



of June— when my heart was almost broken — I am 
now quite sure it was then that God showed the 
greatest love towards me/^ But these words of 
bis will be better understood after the following 
account has been read. 

We must return to Nismes, and to the path now 
appointed for M. Gonthier to walk in. 

After the loss of his wife and child, his thoughts 
were continually turned to one object, the duties 
of his ministry. From this time the distinguish- 
ing features in his life were, humble resignation, 
the entire surrender of himself to God, and the 
desire of dedicating all his strength, and all that 
he possessed, to his sacred calling. As earth could 
no longer bestow on him any thing so dear as those 
that had been taken from him, it was evident that 
God had set him free from all those bonds which 
often repress and confine to earth the noblest affec- 
tions in man. By nature he was gifted with what 
is seldom to be met with — a heart to which de- 
votedness, the devotedness of all its powers to one 
sole object, is happiness. In him, this entire sur- 
render of self took now a character of deep, pure, 
and decided godliness. It appeared as if the in- 
exhaustible spring of affection which he had felt 
for his wife and child now flowed forth towards 
all his fellow-creatures. He felt with them in all 
their joys, but more particularly in all their sor- 
rows. You know how completely he had the 
power of identifying himself with others. This 
sympathy had never been a mere poetical theory 
in him; but from this time it became every day 
more and more an active and powerful Christian 
principle, which enlarging his hearty and increas- 



46 



THE LIFE OF THE 



ing as it were his sense of feeling, made him enter 
into the sufferings of others as if they had been 
his own. He was still the same peculiarly pleas- 
ing person. He lost none of the graces of his 
mind, or of the lovely symmetry of his character; 
but, initiated by sorrow into the experience of hu- 
man life, he received the power of administering 
to the comfort of others in a higher degree than is 
generally granted to mortal man. How many doors 
were then opened to him ! How frequently was 
he sent for ! Notwithstanding the delicate purity 
of his character, the most wretched and the. vilest 
approached him without fear. They knew that all 
their feelings would be understood by him. Bitter 
anguish of soul, either transient or lasting, the sor- 
rows of him who had not suffered in vain, the 
errors of him who had been long seeking to know 
his own heart — with all of these he had a fellow- 
feeling. The doctrine of the natural corruption of 
the human heart, with which he had become expe- 
rimentally acquainted, had produced in him a deep 
spring of tenderness and gentle pity for others. 
It had taught him, when he beheld their failings, 
to think of his own, and to look upon, their sinful- 
ness as the common inheritance which he shared 
with them. This made him carry up to Grod their 
unrighteousness with his own, and mourn over their 
sins as over his own burden, and implore for them the 
same mercy he entreated for himself. The wonderful 
intuition he had acquired of reading the thoughts of 
others, he never, I am convinced, took advantage of, 
by turning it against any. He never made use of 
this knowledge, but for the benefit of the person who 
applied to him. Pie delighted in every happy dis- 



KEY. E. A. A. GONTHIER. 



47 



position, every noble gift of human intellect, every 
thing which reminds us of God and is pleasing in 
man. Whatsoever things are pure, whatsoever 
things are lovely, whatsoever things are of good 
report,^ ^ he loved to dwell upon with all the warmth 
and enthusiasm of a young heart. Neither his 
afflictions nor his experience in after-life altered 
this disposition, which proceeded from the spirit of 
love within him. The following is one of the many 
proofs which might be brought forward in confir- 
mation of these statements. 

An old soldier called one day at M. Gronthier's 
house, half grumbling, yet half ashamed, and in 
fact very much embarrassed at the step he was tak- 
ing. At length he said, " I do not know, sir, what 
business I have here ; but, to tell you the truth, 
my wife has made me promise to come and see you. 
She is a kind soul, and I do not like to vex her ; 
so here I am.^^ M. Gronthier made him sit down ; 
and then the veteran, in a few words, stated that 
he was married to a very pious woman, to whom 
he was much attached. For his part he could 
not tell why, but she was always reasoning with 
him, because he was without any religion. He 
must say, that being a soldier himself, and having 
been born and bred among soldiers, he had never 
heard of such things, but his wife wearied him with 
the repetition of them. He had borne this pretty 
well till now, but she had lately heard a sermon of 
M. Grontliier's on this text : ^^What knowest thou, 
0 wife, whether thou shalt save thy husband and 
ever since, she had not left him a moments peace, 
till he had promised to do what he was now doing. 

Forgive my causing you so much useless trouble^ 



48 



THE LIFE OF THE 



sir/^ he added, as he concluded; ^^but I know you 
are a kind man, and you will agree with me, that 
it was better to act as I have done, for the sake of 
peace at home/^ M. Gronthier was pleased with the 
frankness of this honest soldier ; and in this first 
conversation he tried to win his confidence, and suc- 
ceeded in making him wish for a second interview. 
After his second visit, the soldier expressed a desire 
to be instructed in the doctrines of religion. When 
he came the third time, he said, For the future, 
sir, I will come into your house by the front door, 
and not by the back door;'^ for several of my un- 
cle's visiters preferred the most private entrance, 
being half ashamed of coming to him. After he 
had in this manner paid 31. Gronthier several more 
visits, he said to him, Why should I add to your 
labours, sir, when I can be taught with the chil- 
dren ? I shall for the future come with the cate- 
chumens/' He accordingly did so. When Easter 
approached, his pastor asked him if he wished to be 
admitted to the table of the Lord; and upon his 
answering in the affirmative, again inquired when 
he would wish his private admission to take place. 

Private ! — and why private? Ah I sir, it is not 
fit that at the time I receive such a wonderful 
favour from my Grod I should seem ashamed of him. 
I shall go with the children, sir.'' And the vete- 
ran, though a man of advanced age, came to church 
in the midst of the youthful catechumens. Thus 
was he taught of Grod, and guided by him in his 
heavenward course. 

The field of M. Gronthier' s exertions became more 
and more extended. Ever humble, and doing the 
work of Grod without ostentation, the effects of his 



REV. F. A. A. GONTHIER. 



ministry were becoming, notwithstanding, more visi- 
ble every day. Many souls were won back to be at 
peace with Grod and with themselves ; and in many 
families the Grod of love and peace began to take up 
his abode. 

One day he went to see a widow, who had but 
lately lost her husband. Her eight children were 
divided against each other by self-interest, to such 
a degree that the hope of reconciling them seemed 
vain. It was all he could do to make his voice 
heard, amid the loud abuse they were heaping upon 
one another. At length, collecting all his strength, 
and thinking only of the good that might be done 
among them, he succeeded in being heard and at- 
tended to. He was enabled to convince them and 
to touch their hearts. They became deeply affected, 
and promised to forget their differences ; and, when 
they had been reconciled to each other, they went 
at once to ask their mother^ s forgiveness. They all 
knelt meekly down with that blessed peacemaker, 
and offered up their prayers and thanksgivings to 
the Grod of peace, whose Spirit had just descended 
upon their household. 

This holy and benevolent activity knew no limit 
but in the strength of my uncle ; nay, every day it 
exceeded his strength. Not only Protestants, but 
many Roman Catholics came to him. He was the 
means, in many instances, of reconciling parties 
where there existed rooted enmity, owing to fifty 
years of religious persecution and the effects of the 
French revolution. From the esteem in which he 
was held, and from the friendship of his colleagues, 
M. Gronthier even effected a happy improvement in 
the interior of the consistory, and that body was re- 
5 



50 



THE LIFE OF THE 



organized in a manner whicli extended its influence, 
and rendered its working more efficient. The dif- 
ferent objects to which my uncle directed his atten- 
tion thus became daily more numerous, and at 
length every hour was so filled up, that the only 
time he had for the composition of his sermons was 
as he went from one house to another, or from one 
appointment to another. Formerly he obtained 
some rest, however disturbed it might be by sorrow, 
when he returned home to his wife and child. 
After seeing his little girl in bed, it sometimes hap- 
pened that he spent, by way of recreation, a few 
hours in the society of his friends. But now, his 
labours engrossed the whole of his time. To show 
how small a portion of it he devoted to his own 
amusement, during the nine years he passed at 
Nismes he never saw the sea, which is only a few 
leagues distant. Even his nights were not his own; 
for either they were made restless by thinking over 
what he had to do, or he had sometimes to rise as 
often as three or four times in the night to attend 
to his sick parishioners. He soon lost his sleep, and 
was by degrees brought to that state of altornate 
excitement, languor and suffering, of which we have 
been witnesses. A journey he took into Switzer- 
land proved of little benefit to him, because he was 
so anxious to return to his duties that he hurried it 
too much; added to which, the chief part of the 
time was taken up in trying to establish a commu- 
nication between the Protestant churches in the 
south of France and those of French Switzerland. 
He had returned to resume his duties with the 
superadded burden of excessive labour and illness, 
when he received a letter from his father^ which 



I REV. F. A. A. GONTHIER. 51 

I caused his removal from the church at NismeS; and 
jl changed all his projects for the future. 

We must, in order to understand this letter, re- 
' mind you of the motive which had made M. Gron- 
i thier leave his parents and his country. It was the 
j hope of saving the lives of his wife and child. 
! When he lost them, it was natural for his father 
and mother to think they had some right to urge 
jl his return. They were both more than seventy 
I years old, and the infirmities of age were advancing 
upon them. This being the case, they could not 
conceal from their son how inexpressibly dear he 
was to them, or with what delight they looked for- 
j ward to the hope of dying in his arms. They had 
! first made known their wishes to him very soon 
I after the death of his little girl ; but the consistory 
of the church at Nismes had, by the most pressing 
entreaties, prevailed upon them at that time not to 
insist on their son's return. Another year had 
elapsed, and to their own private reasons for now 
wishing to recall him, a new one was added. They 
knew how much his liealth had sufiered from exer- 
tions beyond his strength, and therefore they no 
longer hesitated in expressing their wish for his re- 
turn; and this they did in so decided a manner, 
that it was evident their determination was no 
longer to be shaken by the entreaties of the con- 
sistory. 

They thus answered the objections made to their 
demand : We feel how much it must cost our son 
to leave Nismes; but we know how severely his 
health has suffered, and we are convinced that the 
labours required from the pastor of so considerable 
a church as yours would entirely destroy it. We 



52 



THE LIFE OF THE 



think also that it would cost him something to be 
absent from us during our last hours^ and not to at- 
tend upon us^ and receive our last blessing. You 
tell us that our son may spend as much of his time 
with us as we wish ; only you entreat that the tie 
which binds him to your church may not be broken^ 
and that, still preserving the title of your pastor, he 
may put a suffragan minister in his place for an in- 
definite period. We could wish it were in our 
power, gentlemen, to express to you how deeply 
grateful we feel for your liberal proposal. But ex- 
perience would soon prove the inexpediency of such 
a plan. Our dear son would never bear to be called 
minister of a church, when he did not fulfil the 
duties attached to it. He would never consent to 
remain unemployed and useless. He must have 
some occupation, but it should be one which will 
not be too much for his strength. There will be no 
difficulty in finding this in some parish in our can- 
ton, where, should his health require it, he can also 
engage an assistant for a shorter or a longer period. 
On considering all this, we hope that you will not 
blame us for persisting to urge the return of our 
son. We think that reason approves the plan which 
our affection alone had at first dictated.''^ 

When our grandfather wrote thus, he had no 
doubt how his son would act. My uncle, who 
had ever looked upon his father's wishes as a law, 
begged of the consistory to accept his resignation. 

We accept it, because we must,^' answered the 
president, from the midst of an assembly all deeply 
affected ; " but we do so with unfeigned sorrow. 
For the space of nine years you have served and 
adorned this chui'ch by your Christian devotedness. 



REV. F. A. A. GONTHIER. 



53 



j your piety and your virtues. You have been in- 
I deed a shining light among us; and you leave be- 
hind you a lasting remembrance of the blessings of 
your ministry/^ ^ 

Such was the departure of M. Gonthier from 
j this church, to which he was bound by so many 
endearing ties. He had already refused to leave 
I it for Montauban, where the professorship of theo- 
I logy had been offered to him ; and likewise for Pa- 
I riS; when the situation of pastor had been pressed 
f upon him; but he at once obeyed the command 
of his aged father. Again did his tears fall over 
the graves of his wife and child ; they flowed also 
i at parting with so many valued friends, and again 
' on taking his last leave of the field of his labours, 
i that field already ploughed up, and where he had 
I been permitted to sow the good seed so abundantly. 
I From that time he treasured up in his heart the 
memory of the past, and, looking forward to the 
aged parents who were awaiting his return, in 
a spirit of humble resignation, he set forward on 
his journey towards the mountains of his native 
country. 

We will take our leave with him of the wealthy, 
industrious and busy city, to follow him to a -very 
different scene. Amid the chain of mountains 
which separates Switzerland from France, are two 
long, narrow defiles, where lie the two smallest pa- 
rishes, I believe, in the Canton de Yaud. Rocks^ 
covered with dark fir-trees, surround every habita- 
tion there. These two villages, Ballaigues, which 



Extract from the archives of the consistory, and sent 
to us by M. Gonthier's friends. 

5^i^ 



54 



THE LIFE or THE 



is situated on the road from Paris to Lausanne, 
and St. Cergues, on the route to Italy^ may be 
seen as you coast along the lake of Geneya. M. 
Gonthier was about to become successively the 
humble pastor of these two remote villages. They 
are both situated on the extreme frontier. It ap- 
peared as if my uncle wished to keep as near as 
possible to his much-loved France. He had^ how- 
ever, now left the orange groves, the balmy air, 
the agreeable wit, and the animated conversation 
of the south. The unceasing bustle of a large city 
he had now exchanged for the monotonous sound 
of the woodman's axe. He would have little now 
to show the friends from France who came to see 
him, but the chalets* of shepherds, and the vari- 
ous stages in the art of cheese-making. Let them, 
however, beware of attempting to visit him before 
June, or after September. I remember upon one 
occasion accompanying my sister at Easter to St. 
Cergues, where she was to be admitted for the first 
time by her uncle to the holy communion. We 
both experienced a feeling of sadness in leaving 
behind us the green plains and the cherry trees 
laden with blossoms, and finding, as we ascended 
the mountain, nothing but snow, ice and the pierc- 
ing cold of winter. To leave Languedoc for such 
a place appeared indeed a banishment, and a cruel 
one. It would have been so to him, had it not 
been for his simple faith and trust in God; that 
true faith which gives life to the desert, which 
re-animates and imparts beauty to every object 



^ Huts on the mountains, where the Swiss shepherds 
reside during the short summer season. 



KEY. F. A. A. GONTHIER. 



55 



around, and becomes in him who possesses it a 
secret source of inexhaustible peace and happiness. 
By it, the two villages of Ballaigues and St. Cer- 
gues were transformed into pleasant and endeared 
abodes to M. Gonthier; indeed, so dear did they 
become to him, that he would never have left 
them, had not his impaired health made it, after 
a time, a duty to descend to the milder and more 
equable climate of the plain. 

The first parish that M. Gronthier was appointed 
to, was the pastoral suffragance^ of Ballaigues. 
It was the situation to which his rank in the 
church entitled him, according to the established 
law of the Canton de Yaud. The parish consisted 
of about three or four hundred souls; and this 
was just what he desired, measuring his wishes by 
his strength, and anxious to become the pastor of 
his flock in the strict acceptation of the word, by 
being known to each individual, as the friend, 
the father and adviser of them all. Such he soon 
became. The time spent at Ballaigues was a hap- 
py time to him, rendered so by the blessed inter- 
course which subsisted between himself and his 
parishioners, and by the confidence and affection 
which they showed towards him. The anxious en- 
deavour of them all was, how they could best prove 
their love to him. I well remember the respect 
and aff'ection which even the youngest children 
had learned to feel towards him, and how they 
would collect together, with smiles of pleasure on 

This name is given in Switzerland to a small number 
of unimportant parishes, which give an intermediate rank 
and revenue to those who serve them, between pastor and 
suffragan, or curate. 



56 



THE LIFE OF THE 



their faces, to see him pass; or sometimes steal 
gently up to him, and with a look of delight place 
their little hands in his. 

Among his parishioners were two men who pos- 
sessed books of a pernicious tendency, which they 
were in the habit of freely circulating ; they soon, 
however, brought all their books to M. Gonthier, 
to dispose of them as he pleased. One of these 
men said to my uncle, when he was about to leave 
Ballaigues, We ought never to have known you, 
sir, or never to have lost you.'^ 

The following circumstance proved the attach- 
ment of the people towards their minister. They 
heard that he was desirous of purchasing a small 
wood, which he might consider as a sort of quiet 
retreat, and which might be an object to him in 
his walks. They at once begged him to come and 
choose from among all the woods in the district 
that which he would prefer ; and when he had cho- 
sen one, they begged he would accept it for as long 
a time as he might remain among them. Nay, 
not satisfied with this, they brought thither stones, 
boards, and moss, for the reposoirs'^ which he in- 
tended to construct there. Then fearing that the 
cattle might do some injury to that part of the 
wood, very early one morning they all set off for 
the spot, laden with the necessary materials for an 
enclosure, and, passing as gently as they could un- 
der M. Gonthier' s windows, reached the place, and set 
to work so busily, that when their minister visited it 
in the course of the day, he saw, to his surprise, 
his retreat surrounded by a newly finished palisade. 



Resting-places. 



REV. F. A. A. GONTHIER. 



57 



My uncle would never have left Ballaigues, had 
not his health again suffered. His parish was one 
of those cures in which it is not allowable to en- 
gage an assistant. Forced, therefore, to change, 
he now applied for the situation of pastor, and was 
again appointed to a village in the mountains. He 
came to St. Cergues, his health in a much worse 
state than when he had first arrived at Ballaigues 
two years before. He had been far from insen- 
sible to the sudden loneliness of his life ; and the 
change of climate and habit seriously affected his 
whole bodily system. From the natural effect of 
his situation, whatever subject set him thinking 
was now too much for his enfeebled state of health; 
study affected him, for he was too much alone ; and 
meditation, because it was too prolonged. Even 
his correspondence with his friends fatigued him : 
perhaps he carried it to too great an extent, for he 
was in the habit of writing to at least thirty indi- 
viduals. The climate among the mountains is pierc- 
ingly cold in the morning and evening, even during 
the finest weather, and a long winter follows a short 
but brilliant summer. He could receive no visitors 
during the winter, and in the summer he had more 
than his strength could bear. For the few weeks 
while the warm weather lasted, not only his friends, 
but strangers flocked to see him. The latter were 
astonished to find a man of polished manners and 
a highly educated mind, whose spirit was occupied 
by the highest subjects, dwelling in so solitary a 
place. They heard from his lips peculiarly intel- 
ligent opinions as to persons and things, for he 
preserved in his retreat a remar liable quickness of 
thought and rich spring of imagination. They could 



58 



THE LIFE OF THE 



discover no distaste to society in him^ nor were 
they long in discerning that if he loved his soli- 
tude^ it was because he had been placed there by 
God and the calling of his ministry. His counte- 
nance bore the traces of sorrow and sufferings but 
a still more striking expression of peaceful resig- 
nation. His trials^ indeed, had only given a purer 
character to his remarkable mildness. The remem- 
brance of his own sorrows had never prevented him 
from taking a lively interest in the happiness of 
others. Persons have often come to him to speak 
of their misfortunes, and have quitted him ashamed 
of the complaints they had uttered, taught by his 
example to seek for strength from the only real 
source. 

Which of his guests could have thought, when 
seeing him so attentive to them, so cheerful in con- 
versation, and with a mind so seemingly at ease, 
that his nights were passed without sleep, and that 
he was often suffering from acute pain? Who 
would have guessed that every household care de- 
volved on himself, that he was obliged to send for 
all provisions from a distance, and that if he quitted 
his visitors for a short time, it was to attend to 
some common household care ? On his return to 
his guests, his conversation was not the less delight- 
ful, displaying as it did at one time the faith, the 
love, the piety with which his soul was filled, and at 
another time disclosing a depth of serious thought.. 
It was sometimes distinguished by delicate refine- 
ment, nay, by a charming playfulness; it was al- 
ways, however, full of easy, graceful kindness 
towards every one. He loved to accompany his 
guests about the beautiful environs of St. CergueS; 



REV. F. A. A. GONTHIER. 59 

and his observations threw an indescribable charm 
j over every object which presented itself on the 
way. He was so childlike^ that the commonest 
j plant delighted him; and the bluet, or common 
j corn-flower, which had been his wife's favourite 
j flower, often brought tears to his eyes. He had 
i an exquisite perception of the beauties of nature ; 
' there was not a quiet valley, nor a distant prospect, 
I nor any place however ordinary, which had not 
j some peculiar beauty in his eyes. The presence 
'! of his God was never forgotten, and seemed to shed 
a new and glorious character over every object. He 
appeared to have an intuitive perception of the ex- 
quisite harmony subsisting between the worlds of 
I nature and grace, and of the extraordinary adap- 
I tation of the things which Grod had made to the 
i persons for whose use they were created. He had 
' thus learned from his Saviour to describe the things 
of heaven by the types and parables of visible and 
; earthly things. No one could ever leave him with- 
out feeling his spirit elevated, and his mind opened 
to many new impressions ; but I may also add, not 
without a painful sensation of self-reproach. He 
had spoken perhaps of heaven, as if it had been 
the first object of your desires — of faith, of purity, 
of devotedness to God and to your fellow-creatures, 
i without appearing even to doubt that you sought 
them above all things; and you could not help 
j feeling how blessed you would have been, could 
, your own heart have testified to you that this was 
i true. Perhaps, at the time, you secretly reproached 
him for not dealing faithfully with you, and speak- 
ing plainly to you that truth which it costs us so 
much to speak to ourselves ; while, instead of this, 



60 



THE LIFE OF THE 



lie had only read your heart by his own. The 
general effect^ however^ of intercourse with him, 
was to leave the mind deeply impressed, serious 
and thoughtful, and in this frame of feeling you 
descended from the mountain. He, however, re- 
turned to his solitary life, returned to it with his 
vivid remembrance of the past, with his constant 
bodily sufferings, and with all those refined thoughts 
and feelings which he had the power of expressing in 
so singularly delightful a manner, but which he was 
often constrained to shut up within himself ; and this 
most likely would be the case at the commencement 
of winter. Ah, we had need to repeat to ourselves 
that his heavenly Father was with him, that his 
Grod and his beloved parish still remained to him. 
We prayed that G-od would graciously sustain him, 
for we could not conceal from ourselves the fact, 
that to the happy and cheerful, though fatiguing 
days just passed, long hours of acute suffering 
were to succeed. Dearly would he pay for every 
effort he had made, by weeks of sleepless nights, 
of pain, and of exhaustion. 

It was during one of these periods that he was 
called to the performance of a painful office, which 
appeared for the time to restore him to his former 
strength. His mother, and shortly afterwards his 
father, required his attendance at their death-beds 
He seemed to revive, in order to fulfil this pious 
duty. I have seen him, with his eyes fixed on 
his beloved parents, watch their slightest move 
ments or their feeblest signs, guess the wants they 
were too weak to express, bend down to them, and 
try to speak in a low, distinct, but very gentle 
voice; smiling on them when his strength was 



EEY. F. A. A. GONTHIER. 



61 



hardly equal to it; showing the most unalterable 
sweetness; ever ready to wait upon them, and to 
do so quietly and calmly, allowing himself neither 
rest nor relaxation. If it was insisted upon that 
he should absent himself from them for a short 
time, he was soon again at his post. His father's 
last words were, ^^0 my dear, my dear son Un- 
til his father died, and even to the day when we 
committed the remains of this revered parent to 
the ground, and his spirit returned to God who 
gave it, my uncle's strength did not fail. Before 
he left us, he was enabled to address a few words 
to us. They were as follow : 

" If there is a time when the voice of Grod more 
expressly speaks to us, it is at such a season as 
the present. We have ourselves been able to 
judge, by the most affecting example, and one 
well calculated to make a deep impression upon 
our hearts, what true Christianity is. We have 
seen the blessed peacefulness it can give in sickness 
and in death. We ought more than ever to feel 
how true it is that there is but one thing needful. 
We must seek to make this heavenly and con- 
soling faith our own, and not satisfy ourselves with 
merely assenting to the truth of it; we must give 
ourselves up, without any reservation, to the full 
conviction of it, and firmly resolve, God helping us, 
to bring every thought, word and action into agree- 
ment with its precepts. In thus following the foot- 
steps of our honoured father, whom God, in his 
mercy, gave us as a guide, there will still remain 
a link between us which death cannot sever. And 
whenever we have been enabled to overcome our 
inward frailty, and to feel ourselves brought nearer 



62 



THE LIFE OF THE 



to our Grod and Savioui', we may imagine we hear 
our beloved father's voice speaking to us, and say- 
ing, ^ Take courage, my children, relax not in your 
zeal and your ardour. Ah ! if you knew, as I now 
do, what a glorious recompense of reward awaits 
those who faint not; could I unveil before your 
eyes the mysteries of everlasting happiness, you 
could then have but this one engrossing object, to 
fight the good fight of faith, and to press forward 
towards the mark for the prize of the high calling 
of God in Christ Jesus, and to obtain that eternal 
inheritance bought for us by our blessed Saviour 
with his own most precious blood, and which we 
may inherit together one day — you and myself, 
your dear mother, and all the beloved and happy 
spirits who are gone before you !' 

My uncle parted with us to return to St. Cergues, 
■ where he arrived, worn out with fatigue, and broken 

? down by this new affliction. His health never reco- 

vered this new shock. The few months he still 
remained among the mountains were passed in weak- 
ness and in pain. Yery frequently, in the morning, 
when he rose at his accustomed hour, which was five 
o'clock, he had not enjoyed any sleep during the 
whole night. The fever which consumed him ac- 
quired strength when he was left alone, and yet was 
increased by the excitement of conversation. His 
weakness was so great that he was often obliged to 
pause and sit down while preaching, to regain a 
little strength before he could proceed. After the 
service was ended, it was with great difficulty, 
though leaning on his friend M. Grudet, that he 
could walk the short distance which separated the 
church from his house ; and when he reached it, he 



REV. r. A. A. GONTHIER. 63 

i; would throw himself breathless on the first chair 
ij which was offered to him. There remained nothing 
' therefore for him but again to leave his parish ; and 
though it would be a new trial to do so, it was quite 
necessary for him to come down to the more genial 
climate of the plain. His friends, knowing the state 
he was in, urged him to leave St. Cergues ; and one 
of them insisted with the authority of a father on 
J his removal. He thought it right to yield; and 
I after having remained three years in his second 
! mountain parish, he took up his abode at Rolle, as 
; first pastor of that town. 

M. Gronthier settled at Rolle just at the time of 
an important crisis to the Swiss churches. As the 
1 eventful period of the French revolution was draw- 
ing towards its close, those who were accustomed to 
study the philosophy of history predicted the ap- 
proach of an epoch of order, peace and religion, and 
' what they had foreseen soon began to appear. From 
the commencement of the nineteenth century in- 
creased attention was excited to religion. At the 
restoration of the Bourbons there was hardly a 
country of Europe in which some commotion did not 
show itself, having religion for its object, or at least 
for its pretext. There seemed to be a revival of 
religion, both among the Papists and the Protes- 
tants. This returning again to the ancient faith 
was looked upon by all as an awakening; and, in 
I fact, many of the primitive doctrines of salvation 
were again received by nations and by individuals, 
i But, as is always the case, the crisis was attended 
by some flights of fanaticism. Political parties took 
I advantage of the excited state of the public mind, 
i to turn it to their own ends. Switzerland took her 



li 



64 



THE LIFE OF THE 



stare in these various manifestations^ and the Can- 
ton de Yaud became the theatre of events at once 
the most interesting and the most deserving of at- 
tention. Either from indolence and the attachment 
of the people to their ancient customs, or from the 
especial favour of Grod, the Yaudois church had 
departed less than others from the doctrines of the 
Reformation. But it was too true that the blessed 
effects of these holy doctrines were but feebly exhi- 
bited in the lives of the people. There was now, 
however, a sudden revival of religion among the 
ministers of the church, principally among the 
younger men. But with the glorious spirit of the 
true faith was sometimes seen the indiscreet and in- 
flated opinions of distempered imaginations. The 
consciences of many men were troubled ; a spirit of 
uneasiness and inquiry seemed at once to seize on 
whole families ; old habits were disturbed among 
the people, and their long, drowsy repose was at 
once broken up. 

Such was the state of society when M. Gonthier 
arrived at Rolle, in November of 1818, and his 
situation there gave him considerable influence over 
the progress of this religious awakening. He soon 
made up his mind how to act. Firmly persuaded 
that the cause of religion was to be the grand object 
of interest in the nineteenth century, he looked upon 
those who first appeared on the scene rather as 
pioneers, and, if I may say so, as soldiers who had 
lost their way in this great and holy enterprise. 
Their errors neither astonished nor troubled him. 
Many among them, in enumerating the few faith- 
ful among their countrymen, purposely avoided 
reckoning him among the number. He felt neither 



REV. F. A. A. GONTHIER. 



65 



offended nor irritated at this treatment. He was 
contented, as to what regarded him personally, to 
appeal to the judgment of Grod from that of men ; 
and as to what concerned the church, to feel satisfied 
that it was in higher keeping. He did, however, 
grieve deeply to see the spirit of persecution appear 
in his country, which could only tend to irritate 
wounds already made, widen the breach between 
opposing parties, and afford the sad prospect of a 
termination at once deplorable and fatal. The re- 
port of all this, which had spread even to other 
countries, filled him with the deepest sorrow. He 
always tried to turn the conversation away from 
such subjects. He eagerly seized the first opportu- 
nity which presented itself to protest against the spi- 
rit of intolerance, nor did he suffer one day to pass, 
as long as these disturbances lasted, without offering 
up the most fervent prayers to God, that he would 
look with favour upon the church, and with mercy 
upon its persecutors. 

He did not, however, rest here. He judged 
that, as a Christian and as a member of the church, 
present circumstances imposed new duties upon him. 
As a Christian, he felt called upon to consider atten- 
tively the new doctrines which were brought for- 
ward, to weigh them well, and to reject nothing 
which he thought was of Grod. In more than one 
respect this was of service to him ; for he thus ac- 
quired clearer views, and learned to express himself 
more decidedly, and more in accordance with the 
simplicity of the gospel. He got rid of some mis- 
taken notions which savoured of legality ] and while 
he ceased not to teach, that without holiness none 
could enter heaven, he now preached more plainly 



66 



THE LIFE OF THE 



salvation as the free gift of Grod ; the natural cor- 
ruption of the human heart; the necessity of rege- 
neration^ and the inestimable love of Grod in sending 
his Son Jesus Christ into the world to save sinners. 
As a member of the church, and as a pastor in it, 
he saw that his duty required that he should exa- 
mine his conscience, and consult, not only his own 
experience, but the word of God and the records of 
history, that he might be taught more distinctly 
what were his duties in this eventful period. The 
result of this inquiry was the settled persuasion that 
his place was in the bosom of the church in which 
he now ministered. He had no longer a doubt or a 
hesitation on this point, but felt as firmly convinced 
of it as he was of the duty of strengthening every 
day the bond of charity towards all men, and that 
of brotherly love towards every child of God. He 
thought, however, that the eventful character of the 
times required in every minister of the national 
church a renewed spirit of earnestness and of zeal, 
as well as that wisdom and that ceaseless activity 
which are indispensable as proofs of spiritual pro- 
gress in our heavenward course, even in the lowly 
path of Christian perseverance. 

Such were the opinions of M. Gonthier, and, as 
was ever the case with him, his actions soon plainly 
showed their agreement with them. His brethren 
in the ministry can bear testimony to his assiduity 
in attending the conferences and conventions. He 
has come among them even to the last years of his 
life, and sometimes when he appeared almost too 
weak to move without exertion. They know the 
deserved veneration in which he was held there, the 
weight that was attached to every word he said, and 



REV. r. A. A. GONTHIER. 67 

how his very presence brought with it a spirit of 
peace among those of different ages and of opposite 
opinions. On the other hand, his parish was wit- 
ness to the renewed zeal with which he fulfilled 
all his ministerial duties. His preaching became 
still more winning and persuasive. He laboured 
more than he had ever done, and his debilitated 
state was forgotten, while his whole heart was given 
j up to the one object for which he lived. He might 
i! have been thought young and full of vigour, had 
|| not these renewed exertions been soon followed by a 
,1 fit of illness, so violent that it was feared it must 
end in death. He was obliged at once to commit 
the care of his parish to a suffragan minister, 
i He did recover this attack, however, and the dis- 
1 ease, after a long continuance, at last abated. It 
1 assumed a chronic form, but threatened to resume 
' its violent inflammable character on the slightest 
exertion or fatigue. Weeks and months passed 
away, and the beloved invalid experienced no ameli- 
oration in his state of health. For one of his ardent 
and active mind to feel himself suddenly stopped in 
the labours of his ministry was a trial of a different 
character from those he had before met with. He 
saw at once that he could never hope to undertake 
again the charge of the church of Rolle, which em- 
braces an extensive field of duty. Was he then to 
do nothing but drag on a useless existence ? Was 
his course ended ? Or what was the will of his Lord 
concerning him ? While he was thus perplexed 
within himself, and looking forward with some little 
anxiety to the future, an appointment unexpectedly 
became vacant in a neighbouring parish, inferior in 
rank and in stipend, but where there was but little 



68 



THE LIFE OF THE 



labour required. The office of deacon at Nyon re- 
quired^ in the person who held it^ little more than 
to preach on Sundays. The thought that perhaps 
strength sufficient would be granted to him to en- 
able him to perform the light duties required in such 
a sphere^ made his heart leap with joy, and he 
decided upon making the trial. To the great aston- 
ishment of many, he applied for the vacant appoint- 
ment ; and giving up, with deep regret, the charge 
of his beloved flock at Eolle, after labouring three 
years among them, he came, at the end of his pil- 
grimage, to take up his abode at Nyon.''' 

But here also was he disappointed in his hopes. 
A few attempts which he made to preach, though 
with long intervals between, brought him again 
almost to the gates of death. They left him in a state 
of convulsed excitement, which lasted so long, that it 
was feared another attempt would affect his reason, 
if not altogether destroy the powers of his mind. His 
heart was now severely tried. He was for the first 
time almost desponding. I had been just appointed 
as his assistant in the ministry, and, with my eldest 
sister, had taken up my abode with him. We saw 
the struggles of his mind. Had it not been for the 
hope of being useful to me, I have no doubt that he 
would at once have given up the office of pastor 
altogether. His affection for us, and the benefits 
he hoped to confer upon us, appeared to become, in 
some measure, the means of comforting him. From 
the first moment of my sister's arrival, his chief 
study seemed to be how he might make her happy. 



* The native place of Fletcher of Madeley. 



REV. r. A. A. GONTHIER. 69 

His thouglits were constantly occupied about her. 
j She was beginning to replace his own lost child 
I in his affections. She had come, thinking to take 
care of and attend upon him ; but she herself 
received from him every care and attention. On 
those days when he knew me to be particularly 
engaged, I have seen him, though very ill, rise 
from his bed, and supporting himself against the 
wall as he walked along, come and sit with my 
sister, and do all in his power to please and interest 
her. He liked to be with her as much as he could. 
They were always happy when together; and this 
mutual affection appeared to increase every day. 
This lasted rather more than six months, when it 
pleased the Lord to remove my beloved sister from 
among us. God, in his goodness, had, I feel as- 
sured, brought her to her uncle that he might be 
made the instrument of preparing her for another 
world. 

My sister Marie was about twenty-one when she 
died. No words can describe our feelings on this 
occasion ; and our dear uncle — how did he bear up 
under this fresh bereavement ? The blow left him 
without strength, at least he found none in himself ; 
but God was merciful to him, and upheld him ; and 
he imparted to us some of that heavenly comfort 
wherewith he himself had been comforted. He 
felt so firmly persuaded that without the permission 
of our heavenly Father not a sparrow falleth to the 
ground, that at once he bowed himself under the 
hand of God, repelled every thought that might 
seem like a murmur, and taught us to reap with 
him the blessed fruits of affliction. With what 
warmth did he afterwards talk to us of the firm 



70 THE LIFE OF THE 

hope which was as an anchor to his soul ! I re- 
member some of his expressions : " Our sweet child 
is now in heaven. She has received a crown of 
life; nor can the heart of man conceive the happi- 
ness she now enjoys. It is in that blessed place I 
strive to seek her every hour^ though my weak heart 
is always longing to recall her^ and brings to my 
remembrance the past with its happiness, and the 
future, once so bright with its cheering hopes. And 
thou, 0 Lord ! pardon this selfishness, and grant 
that I may not love myself so much, but that my 
love for her may become more disinterested, while I 
aspire to that blessed place where thou, in thy 
wisdom and great mercy, hast removed her. This 
preparation of mind can only come from thee; 
but thou wilt bestow it on those who faint not in 
seeking after thee, for the sake of Him by whom 
alone we can have access to thee^ even Jesus Christ 
our Saviour. He will give his peace, which the 
world cannot give, to those who are weary and 
heavy laden, and who come to him for peace and 
rest.'' 

Our dear uncle thus tried to comfort us, and yet 
we were well aware how much he himself needed 
comfort. Seeing the state of his health, and the 
severe shock it had again received, we all entreated 
him to leave home on a tour for some time, as 
travelling had always seemed the only remedy from 
which he derived any benefit. He had for some 
preceding years taken several journeys through 
Switzerland and France, and always returned much 
improved in health. The south of France had a 
peculiar attraction to him. As soon as he arrived 
in Provence, his bodily feelings underwent a com- 



REV. F. A. A. GONTHIER. 



71 



i| plete change^ his nervous irritation was soothed, and 
Ij he became as one inspired with new life. He was 
like some withered fruit in the hands of a skilful 
\ chemist, who, by means of his air-pump, gives it 
i for a short time the appearance and freshness of its 
I former state. The warm and balmy atmosphere^ 
I the variety and novelty of every thing, as well as 
j! the life and animation of the scene, had the same 
j effect upon him. The rapid communication of 
ij thoughts and feelings were well suited to his own. 
|! They formed, indeed, a strong contrast to our na- 
tional slowness, and made him enjoy, almost as a 
kind of repose, the easy flow of French conversa- 
tion. However, he was now under painful restric- 
tions. He was in a state of such extreme weakness 
that he could rarely take an active part in conver- 
sation ; and the doctors whom he had consulted had 
positively insisted on his avoiding every occasion of 
excitement. He was in consequemce obliged to 
pass very near to some of his most valued friends, 
without venturing to see them. At Lyons, how- 
ever, he could not deny himself the melancholy 
pleasure of lodging at the same hotel to which he 
had formerly gone in company with his wife and 
child. The hostess knew him again. Seeing him 
alone, and so aged in appearance, with tears in her 
eyes, and without speaking, or waiting for him to 
speak to her, she led him to the same room in 
which his child had formerly been taken ill, and 
where he had attended her for a fortnight with 
the most unremitting and tender care. His heart 
longed to visit Nismes, for his dearest friends were 
there, and there also were those two graves which 
he had so often visited, not to weep, but to pray 



72 



THE LIFE OF THE 



that lie miglit be strengthened in his godly resolu- 
tions. However, he obeyed the orders of his phy- 
sician, which forbade his approach to a spot where 
his deepest feelings would have been awakened. 
He went the oftener to Marseilles, and to the Isles 
of Hyeres. Once he embarked on the canal of 
Languedoc, visited Bordeaux, Rochelle, crossed La 
Vendee, and, following the course of the Loire, 
returned through Paris, where he remained a few ^ 
days. Finding, however, that he did not regain the ' 
strength which was expected from this lengthened 
excursion, he latterly confined his journeys to the 
departments of Est and to Provence. We, how- 
ever, must not think of him in these journeys as 
unlike his former self. For in the diligence, in the 
hotel, and in his solitary rambles, he was ever the 
same devoted follower of Christ : occupied with one 
glorious subject, the effect of which was always 
visible in his life and conversation. Many accounts 
have reached us of the good he did, and of the 
blessings he scattered around him on these jour- 
neys. Much, doubtless, still remains unknown. 
He never stayed at any place without leaving a 
lasting impression in the hearts of the persons he 
met. They could not forget his touching expression 
of countenance, his heavenly serenity, his conver- 
sation, full of animation and of an interest rarely 
to be met with, sometimes sparkling with wit and 
gracefulness, but more frequently glowing with 
the ardour of Christian love. When he departed, 
none felt as if a stranger had been among them. 
Once he was seen to arrive at his accustomed hotel 
at Geneva, accompanied by several other travellers, 
who all appeared to regard him with deep interest. 



REV. r. A. A. GONTHIER. 



73 



When he returned home to lis, he thought that the 
account of his acquaintance with them might be 
useful to us. I was sitting in silence, according 
to orders/^ he said, when a remark was made by 
one of our fellow-travellers, which turned the con- 
versation to the subject of religion. It then ap- 
peared that there were in the diligence persons 
holding many shades of opinion, from skepticism 
to true faith. Among them was a very well- 
informed and agreeable man, who spoke of religion 
with respect, but seemed to think it a blessing 
which was, and most probably ever would be, 

I unknown to him. I could no longer forbear 
joining in the conversation, but spoke as knowing 

! by my own experience the truth of what I ad- 
vanced. The conversation continued between us, 
he bringing to it his brilliant wit, and the stores of 
a rich and fertile imagination, while I spoke from 
my heart, from my own conviction, and with my 
whole soul. Wearied at last by a combat in which 
we engaged with such unequal weapons, touched 
also by his noble and generous manner, and some- 
times by a tone which appeared to come from his 
heart, I could not help saying, from the very 
depths of my own heart, ^ Ah ! sir, you will think 
me strange and hard-hearted, but I cannot help 
praying that you may one day meet with a heavy 
affliction !^ The expression of my own care-worn 
countenance showed plainly enough that I had 
myself experienced those trials which I desired 
might one day be his ; perhaps, also, my deep feel- 
ing was perceptible in the very tones of my voice. 

I There was a dead silence for some minutes, and 
each of us appeared to be absorbed in thought. 
7 



I 



74 



THE LIFE OF THE 



When we resumed the conversation, it was with 
more seriousness. The man who had before taken 
the lead still continued to converse with a lively 
interest, but with less levity ; he seemed to be less 
impressed with the importance of his own opinions, 
more humble, and now spoke from his heart. All 
of them, and he especially, treated me with a de- 
gree of interest and affection which continued to 
increase during the remainder of our journey. On 
arriving at G-eneva, we did not separate. They all 
agreed to accompany me to that hotel where I am 
accustomed to stay. They begged that we might 
form one party at the same table. I have since 
received several letters, full of interest, from the 
man whom I had thus permitted to look into the 
secret state of my heart. And from what then 
occurred I have learned this lesson — Not to be so 
fearful, so distrustful, as we often are, in speaking 
of those convictions which bring with them the 
peace of our Lord Jesus Christ.^' 

Another consequence of the journeys of M. Gron- 
thier ought also here to be mentioned. He had 
always been in the habit of reading much, and ra- 
pidly, books of every description. Even during 
the time of his active ministry at Nismes, he had 
found means to keep pace with the literature of 
the day. He took advantage of the various situa- 
tions in which his travelling life now placed him, 
to study mankind as a social body, under the vari- 
ous aspects in which he met them. He not only 
read the books and newspapers published in the 
capital, but sought out carefully provincial publi- 
cations, and made himself well acquainted with 
their peculiar character. Literature on the subject 



! 

j REV. r. A. A. GONTHIER. 75 

j of religion was, however, the chief object of his 
il attention. He collected together and read the writ- 
ings of opposite parties, and in doing so, he was 
I accustomed to make extracts of what appeared 
|| most striking to him. ^^In travelling for the re- 
j| establishment of my health,^^ he wrote to us, ^^I 
I must not lose sight of that which is of infinitely 
!; higher importance. Too often deprived of the 
|! blessings of public worship, or absent from those 
|| places where I might enjoy really edifying conver- 
f sation, I try at least to collect around me the best 
I books I may happen to meet with. I extract from 
them what I think may be useful, without always 
j employing the author's expressions, but modifying 
' them occasionally, that I may give them a personal 
I application to myself.^^ While thus employed, a 
I thought struck him, which at first he rejected, but 
I which, gradually sinking deeper and deeper into 
his mind, at last prevailed with him ; it was to col- 
lect these scattered fragments, and to arrange them, 
in order to present them as an entire work to the 
public. He did not adopt this plan without ex- 
treme self-distrust. As a young man he had ad- 
vanced a few steps in the paths of literature, and 
had published, while at Yverdun, Miscellanies of 
Literature and Morals,^^ sketches full of grace and 
. feeling. Afterwards, the Child's Portfolio'^ had 
appeared by him, written for his own children; 
I and, about the same time, he and one of his dear- 
! est friends had brought out together a periodical 
publication, The Yoice of the Religion of the 
Nineteenth Century.^^ In this work the two friends 
hailed the first symptoms of a return to religion; 
and in giving an account of the re-establishment 

I 



76 



THE LIFE OF THE 



of the institutions of the church, they sought tof 
point out the means of restoring life to them. They 
continued this publication for two years. From 
that time M. Gonthier had stopped short in a path' 
where vanity, he feared, had led him, and in re- 
turning to it he proceeded cautiously. He at-^ 
tempted small works at first, and printed only af 
few copies. In 1824 appeared his Devotional' 
Exercises for the Communion.^^ This little book, 
which was much wanted, soon forced itself into 
notice. Corrected year after year from its first ap- 
pearance, in successive editions, it soon took its : 
place as a standard work. Three other publica- 
tions appeared the same year from his pen, and had 
likewise a great run : they were, A Religious 
Survey of the Works of Creation Select Let- , 
ters of Fenelon;'^ and Christian Lectures.^' Thisj 
last consisted of three parts — Short Meditations ; 
Reflections on the sufferings of Christ; and an 
abridgment of the Confessions of St. Augustine. 
He was soon called upon to reprint these works. 

The course which he had thus tried now ap- 
peared to him to be his appointed path. He began 
to see what was the will of Grod concerning him. 
His heavenly Father, in his infinite goodness, called 
him to a work full of pleasantness and proportioned 
to his weakness. He could not, it is true, devote 
himself to it as he might have done in his former 
days of health, when he wrote with a facility rarely 
equalled. Now he was soon exhausted. He was 
frequently obliged to leave his employment, and re- 
turn to it again ] to efface very often what he had writ- 
ten, correct it, copy it again and again, striving at the 
same time against the acute pain in his head, from 



KEY. F. A. A. GONTKIER. 



77 



' which every day and every hour he suffered. Worn 
j out as he was^ the fever occasioned by composition 

excited him at the time, and left him afterwards in 
I a state of debility and irritation of nerves impossible 
jj to describe. Still he went on in spite of all, and 
I could not sufficiently bless God, who had, contrary 
' to his expectation, provided for him in the midst 

of his loneliness another kind of pulpit and minis- 
i try. He received strength to fulfil his new vo- 

cation. Year after year he saw it extend itself. 
|! During the eight years of his life which he passed 

in writing, twenty-four thousand copies of his works 
' issued from the G-eneva press. Few pious families, 
I in a widely-extended circle, are without some of M. 
] Gonthier's works. 

i The publications we have already mentioned con- 
j tained the germ of his more extensive writings. 
' He introduced into the Miscellanies'^ the extracts 
' which he had made during his several journeys, as 
well as the fragments in which the fruits of his own 
meditations were incorporated, and also some re- 
flections which his own experience, the study of his 
own heart, and of the Holy Scriptures, had sug- 
gested to him. Thus three volumes were compiled, 
and entitled, Considerations Christian Medi- 
tations and ^^Remarks on certain passages in the 
I New Testament.'^ We hope soon to add to this 
I collection a fourth volume, which was nearly com- 
I pleted when we lost our uncle : it is called, Ee- 
flections on the Passion of our Lord Jesus Christ.^' 
j The second collection published by M. Gronthier 
was, Christian Letters.^^ It was a happy idea to 
let the fathers of the church — popes, obscure be- 
I lievers, martyrs of different sects, reformers, mem- 



78 



THE LIFE OF THE 



bers of Port-Royal^ as well as those belonging to 
the order of the Jesuits^ missionaries of divers com- 
munions — all successively speak the common lan- 
guage of the Christian faith. There was unity and 
yet variety in the work — variety of situation^ of 
character^ and of information. These letters^ writ- 
ten from different places, and at such different pe- 
riods, were likely to have an interest with many 
kinds of readers ; and they did, in consequence, obtain 
a speedy and welcome reception. Encouraged by 
their success, M. Gronthier tried, in every new edi- 
tion, to perfect and enlarge the work, till in the 
last it was increased to five volumes. The first con- 
tains letters written before the eighteenth century. 
The second, those of Fenelon. The third volume, 
which contains Duguet's letters, caused some trouble 
in the collecting. The writings of this pious Jan- 
senist were difficult to be met with. It happened, 
however, that the book lay forgotten on the shelves 
of a bookseller, who was one of his congregation ; 
it was unknown to the man himself, or perhaps he 
might have scrupled to harbour the work of one be- 
longing to a hostile sect ; however, it was to be had 
for gold; and M. Gronthier, happy in the possession of 
his treasure, set to work to extract from it materials 
for the third volume of his collection. The fourth 
volume comprises letters written during the eighteenth 
and nineteenth centuries. The fifth is for the use 
of persons in affliction. He who had suffered much 
himself was well qualified to make such a selection. 
We wish to add to these five volumes a sixth, com- 
posed entirely of our uncle^s own letters : there are 
many of them in the possession of his friends. He 
also wrote many to persons who, after reading his 



REY. F. A. A. GONTHIER. 



79 



worksj had asked his advice in situations of difficulty. 

I Doubtless there would be many things in such a 
correspondence which ought to remain secret ; but 
there must be others admirably fitted to become a 
common benefit. May we be allowed to solicit co- 
pies or fragments of those letters which, by being 

: made public, might be useful to others ? We claim 
this favour from the kindness and courtesy of those 
persons from whom we ask it; and we hope, from 
what we may thus receive, to find materials for a 
sixth and last volume of Christian Letters. 

i M. Gronthier^s last work was a selection from the 
writings of the Early Fathers of the Church. It had 
long been a subject of regret to him that the an- 
cient fathers of the church, who are almost wor- 
shipped by the Papists, should be altogether neg- 
lected by Protestants. These holy fathers, for- 

I merly so very powerful — for nations had been con- 
verted through their instrumentality — had surely 
not become utterly unworthy of the study of men 
of the present age. Every thing in the present 
day announces an awakening. It is a sign of a 
revival in the church, when a deep interest is felt 
in the records of her ancient days; indeed there 
never is a real awakening without this. The church 
renovates herself by returning to the contemplation 

I of her saints and martyrs; and in this manner 
retraces her steps to her Divine source, to draw 
afresh its pure and living waters. Such researches 
have already commenced. In England, in Ger- 
many and in France, we have seen the fathers of 
the church furnish matter for many a laborious un- 
dertaking. We have even seen them offered to 
the astonished eyes of persons in the drawing- 



80 



THE LIFE OF THE 



rooms of the capital, by the most elegant of our 
literary men."^ M. G-onthier approached these sub- 
jects with a serious and thoughtful mind. During 
his long winters at St. Cergues, their writings formed 
his habitual studies, and he then began to make 
extracts from them. In his various journeys, he 
sought to form a collection of their works; and 
profiting by the dispersion of the monastic libra- 
ries which took place at the Revolution, and filled 
the booksellers' shops with their contents, he suc- 
ceeded in making it complete. He then applied 
himself to accomplish his last and crowning work. 
It was performed in the spirit which always ani- 
mated him. He thought less of making it an his- 
torical work than an edifying one. From the lives 
and writings of the fathers, he chose out that which 
appeared to him to possess an interest, at once the 
most pure, the most extensive, and at the same time 
time of the most abiding service to the church. 
He occasionally introduced into the narrative some 
of the thoughts of his own heart, and the reflec- 
tions drawn from his own experience. In the \ 
translation, he united simplicity with his own na- | 
tural elegance. Sometimes a passage which had | 
been translated twenty times before, appeared new : 
from him. As his health declined, study became 
more and more irksome to him, and he was obliged 
to revise over and over again what he had written. 
A letter to any one of his family has taken him 
several days to write, and many pages in ^^La Bi--' 
bliotheque^^ have been re-written ten times before 

^ M. Villemain, of the French Academy, in his work [ 
entitled, Nouveau Melanges." 



REV. F. A. A. GONTHIER. 



81 



ij sent to the press. These volumes^ produced so 
ll slowly, would have been completed with difficulty, 
if the lonely and retired life he led had not af- 

I forded him so many long days, and if he had not 
acquired the habit of improving every moment. 
And thus, in the midst of pain and suffering, he 
persevered in the task set before him, for which 

II indeed he seemed to live^ but which he was not 
] spared to finish. 

|| It is a mistake, in taking an account of the 
|l years of our life, to reckon the trouble and the 
j untroubled together, for our years may be weighed 
' as well as measured ; and how heavy are some of 
them with the burden of our sufferings 1 Sorrow 
and labour had made our uncle an old man at 
fifty, except in spirit and in heart. To see him, 
or to hear him speak, one would have thought him 
still young, because, while conversation lasted, the 
fervour of his spirit animated his heart, his looks 
and his manner. His inward fever, alas ! assumed 
the appearance of the vigour of life, but failed not, 
at the same time, slowly to wear away the poor 
sufferer, who for some time was able to oppose to 
it his strong constitution, his temperance and his 
regularity of diet. His doctor was his housekeeper 
Fanchette, who knew exactly how to adapt his food 
to his state of health at the time, and to combine 
that which was nourishing and strengthening, in 
his daily repast, with some ingredient of a soothing 
nature. Kind, good Fanchette I Your devotion to 
our uncle has indeed spared him much suffering, 
and been the means of prolonging his existence. 
It has added to the hours which he was thus ena- 
bled to dedicate to Grod, and to the service of his 



82 



THE LIFE OF THE 



fellow-creatures. You understood him perfectly; 
you guessed his wants; you have been his hand 
and foot to him, when he could no longer himself 
visit those in sickness and affliction. We have 
seen you always the same towards him, during the 
nine years you served him. Together with us 
you closed his eyes. If any one has loved M. 
Gronthier, or has been benefited by him, let them 
bless you, as we do. Yes, you have done what you 
could ! 

Alas ! we could not prevent our beloved invalid 
from feeling the change of seasons. When winter 
came, he remained for weeks together, trembling 
both with cold and fever, under the duvets,'^ with 
which he was covered, with no respite, no sleep, 
and obliged to forbid himself all communication 
with us, as the slightest exertion would have in- 
creased the violence of the disease. How many 
days has he thus passed ! How often has he reck- 
oned the hours of the night by those of his suffer- 
ings I And when the morning dawned, when every 
thing awakes refreshed by the night^s repose, it 
was with difficulty he could lift up his languid 
head. If he hailed the returning day, it brought 
not to him, as it did to others, the society of chil- 
dren, of a wife, of friends, of recreations, of joys, 

to lighten his labours. His days were 

He alone knew what they were I We have known 
nothing of them but what it was not possible for 
him to conceal. Ever ready to open his heart to 
us on the subject of his blessings, he kept to him- 



* Coverlids, filled with down, and commonly used in 
some parts of the continent. 



Ij REV. F. A. A. GONTHIER. 83 

I self the secret of his sufferings. How did he try 
I to spare our feelings ! He prayed^ he trusted in 
) God, he cast himself upon him, and waited pa- 
|i tiently for happier hours, assured that they would 
I come at last. And they often came to him, even 
[ in the midst of his severest agonies. The God of 
} all comfort alone knows the secret and ineffable 
ji sweetness which he was enabled to taste through 
i faith, even in his seasons of heaviest suffering. 
j( My uncle, on more than one occasion, has grate- 
ji fully borne witness to this. 

|| Once we found him, though we knew he was 
I very ill on that day, with that expression of hap- 
l piness in his face which was indeed habitual to 
} him, and we could not help alluding to that 
i which struck us so sensibly. ^^It is true,^' he 
said, that often on those days in which my phy- 
' sical anguish is the greatest and the most pro- 
I tracted, and when I feel most worn out and cast 
down, I am permitted at the same time to expe- 
rience in the highest degree those joys which the 
peace of God imparts. I feel distinctly, at such 
I time, my double existence, — that of the body, which 
' suffers ; and that of the spirit, which remains calm, 
comforted and happy.^^ 

While this state of severe suffering lasted, M. 
Gonthier could not apply himself to any kind of 
study. It was always succeeded by days of languor 
and extreme debility, from which a journey gene- 
rally relieved him. The strength he then acquired 
he hastened to devote to the composition of his works, 
to writing letters, and, when he was able, to paying 
his visits, particularly among the afflicted. His 
days were passed in this manner, when a petition 



84 



THE LIFE OF THE 



was sent to him by my mother and my only re- 
maining sister^ who lived together near Yverdnn. 
Since the death of my eldest sister^ my uncle had j 
given all the affection which he had before divided ! 
between his two nieces, to my sister Anna. She | 
reminded him of his mother. Her gentleness had I 
a peculiar charm to him. He had, but a short 
time before, united her in marriage to a young mi- ! 
nister of the gospel, who was endeared to us from 
our childhood; and now they entreated that he 
would come to them, and be a witness of their hap- 
piness. 

He answered the letter by saying : " My Anna, 
my own beloved child, I cannot tell you how much 
I feel at the thought of once more embracing 
you, nay, of finding myself under your roof. Yet 
you know how much I dread lest a visit from me 
should prove a fatigue to my sister, when over-exer- 
tion of any kind is hurtful to her. Tell me just 
how things stand. The enjoyments which God has 
in store for us are always fuller and sweeter when 
in seeking them we have not only consulted the 
wishes of our hearts, but the dictates of reason 
also. I shall still look forward to this delightful 
journey, the mere thought of which already makes 
my heart throb with pleasure. 

There was but one voice in the parsonage to urge 
our uncle to hasten his journey. Anna, full of hap- 
piness, wrote the letter to entreat him to come. 
The day she wrote she was full of life, and appeared 
to be in the enjoyment of excellent health. Ah ! 
who could have thought that she was calling him 
whom she regarded as her father to attend her 
death-bed, and that a week afterwards she would 
breathe her last in his arms ? 



REV. F. A. A. GONTHIER. 



85 



ii Hadst thou yet any tears left, kind, suffering, 
;i sympathizing friend ? My own mother ! my more 
j! than father ! how anxiously did we — my brother 
] and myself — desire to show you not only the affec- 
tion of a son, but to replace the gentle daughter 
! whom you had lost ! Dearest mother, so heavily 
i afflicted, while leaning upon us, you turned at the 
i same time to your brother ; and he was enabled to 
j| console and support you. Like that heavenly 
! Friend from whom alone he derived his strength, 
he did not fail you. Words of comfort were still 
given to him for your sake. He was enabled to 
I comfort you in your trouble, by the comfort where- 
with he himself was comforted of God. 

i 

I He wrote thus to our dearest mother, a few days 
after the death of Anna : 

i " My beloved sister, dearer to me than ever : I 
wish you were able to read my whole heart, that 
you might see how your sorrows are become my sor- 
rows, your life my life, and your future my future. 
I did not think it possible that any thing could 
have drawn closer the ties of affection which have 
united us from our childhood. It has known no 
change by any change of circumstances, but has 
strengthened itself in the midst of the varied events 
of our lives. The common interest we both felt in 
your children, whom I look upon as my own, only 
' increased our affection ; and that affection appeared 
j to have obtained a more perfect character from the 
! ever-growing desire of our hearts to live entirely and 
devotedly to our Divine Saviour ; to Him, by whom 
1 alone we can hope to enter together the blessed and 



86 



THE LIFE OF THE 



eternal mansions of heaven. And yet^ when I 
think of that inexhaustible flow of affection which 
your Anna felt for you, from which you were per- 
mitted to. draw at all times, and in the blessing of 
which no one ever rejoiced more than myself, I feel 
how great a call there is upon those still left, to 
make up to you for what you have lost. But I 
know, and I feel so much delight in saying it — nay, 
I cannot repeat it with expressions of sufficient 
strength — that your loving and dutiful children 
yearn towards you with a far more anxious and 
affectionate tenderness than they have ever felt. 
They would surround you with a more lively and ^ 
devoted love. Indeed, no words of mine can inter- 1 
pret the language of their hearts towards you. But 
permit your brother also, identified as he is with 
you, he who alone remains to you in the place of f 
your revered father and your tenderest of mothers ^ 
— perm (t him to tell you, being thus the representa- ^ 
tive, ip some sort, of the lively affection of our * 
parent* towards you, that he would have you regard P 
him pJ-so as the representative of your Anna, of her j| 
whos^ affection was your joy upon earth; your joy, ^ 
and '^line as well as yours. You cannot conceive \ 
how powerfully I feel my heart drawn towards you. *^ 
Wa know, however, in whom alone it is sweet, it is ^ 
blessed, to love one another : we know Him, who ? 
alone can bear us away in spirit from the storms of 
this life to the enjoyment of that peace which ^ 
passeth all understanding, to the magnificent beati- > 
tudes of heaven. We will pray to Him to sanctify ^' 
our close affection, to reveal himself to our hearts, \ 
and to take up his abode within us. And let us ^ 
never be weary in earnestly entreating and interced- ^ 



i 



Ij REV. F. A. A. GONTHIER. 87 

'! ing for each, other, that he will send to both of us 
j| the light, the wisdom, and the strength of his Holy 
;! Spirit, to dispel our natural darkness, and to banish 
1 the ill-regulated thoughts of our minds ; that he will 
turn us from the seduction of outward things, so 
that he may truly abide in us, and we in him, 
|j through his great mercy — mercy which is so bound- 
I less that the praise of it will be sung by the choirs 
j of the blessed in heaven to all eternity, so inexhaus- 
tible is the glorious theme 

I A short time after the death of my sister Anna, 
we lost an aunt, a sister of our grandmother. Her 
residence was at Yverdun, and she was very old and 
j infirm. As long as she lived, my mother would not 
: consent to leave her. After her death, however, 
i we were enabled to realize the wish of our hearts, 
i which had long been to live altogether near my un- 
I cle. My health no longer allowed me to continue 
as his suffragan. My brother replaced me, and my 
; mother took up her abode with us. To describe 
I how her brother prized her dear society, how he 
j devoted himself to her, and what he was to us, 
would be to present him under a new aspect. But 
it is time we should stop. We have already entered 
too minutely into family details, to which your 
I attachment to M. Gronthier could alone impart in- 
I terest. Little need be said concerning our mother 
I and our uncle. A few words will suffice to show in 
I what light they stood the one to the other. They 
i strove to anticipate each other in their mutual 
wishes ; and their every wish, their grand and rul- 
ing principle and motive was, to be conformed in 
every thing to the will of Grod. The only strife be- 



I 



88" THE LIFE OF THE 

I 

tween tliem was, wlio should excel in kindness." ij 

They could not recollect an instance, in the whole k 

course of their lives, when a word of difference had t 
been interchanged by them. There was such a 
strong sympathy between them, that as long as my 
mother was spared to us, my uncle was tremblingly 
alive to every change even in the state of her health. 

It was her last illness which brought him to his H 

lowest degree of weakness, in the month of March, i 
1832. For many weeks they had not been able to 
see each other. On the 13th of that month, in the 
morning, my mother appeared so fearfully weak 
that we could no longer bear to put off informing 

my uncle of her state, and of our fears that she f 

could not live through the day. On hearing this, ^ 

he rose, attempted to walk a few steps, then a few * 

more : at length, supporting himself partly on his ? 

stick and on my arm, he succeeded in reaching my f 

mother's apartment. On seeing him, ste was just i 

enabled to exclaim, My brother and joy seemed [ 

at once to take away the little life that remained, f 

He knelt down by her bedside, and bending close I 

to her ear, he prayed. When he had finished, F 

she thanked him by a sign, then closed her eyes, f 

and opened them once more : it was her last k 

effort. We turned our eyes from her beloved f 

form, as if following with our upward looks the | 

spirit which had already ascended to the paradise \ 

of God ! t 

I could not attempt to describe the state of my I 

uncle at this moment, or for several days afterwards, f 

He folded us both closely to his heart, and while i 

he was sustained by our arms, he poured out his l 

soul before God in fervent prayer. Then, still sup- | 



i 



REV. F. A. A. GONTHIER. 



89 



ported by us^ he walked back to bis own parsonage, 
jj which he reached with great difficulty. When he 
i attempted to sit down, the rush of blood to his head 
|i and heart nearly suffocated him. He was obliged 
I to rise at once, and tried to move about his room 
1 with a gentle and regular step. But the violence 
I of his palpitations would not allow of this, and he 
1 was forced to walk up and down the chamber at a 
I rapid pace. These pulsations in his head continued 
to be so violent that he felt every instant as if it 
1 were about to burst. At the expiration of an hour 
1 or two, he again attempted to sit down, but the 
' effort was made in vain, nor was he able to do so 
during the rest of that day and night, or for the two 
j days and nights which followed. It was only on 
i the third day that extreme fatigue brought him a 
short season of repose. We shall afterwards men- 
tion on what occasion my uncle described to us the 
! agonized feelings of these three days. For two 
' years he never alluded to the subject. His palpita- 
; tions continued without much intermission for an- 
other fortnight, and with such violence, that although 
we knew but in part what he suffered, we feared 
that every hour might be his last. In this state, 
could we dare hope that he would summon resolu- 
tion sufficient to enter a carriage and take a jour- 
ney ? Or, if he would, how could we bear to see him 
go, knowing how impossible it would be to prevail 
upon him to allow one of us to accompany him ? He 
did make up his mind to set out. He wrote to us 
from Greneva, to tell us he had been enabled to 
I bear the journey so far. He wrote again from 
I Belegarde, to say that his palpitations were less 
I violent. 

8* 



90 



THE LIFE OF THE 



At Lyons lie consulted his physician, who could f| 
only repeat his former advice : Continue your 
iourneys/^ he said; ^^work in your garden; employ 
your thoughts as little as possible ; avoid conversa- 
tion where you cannot help giving way to your na- 
tural ardour ; and above all things, shun the least 
excitement.'^ This was just ordering him to do 
what he naturally dreaded, but it was wise counsel ; 
he felt it to be so, and he recognised the will of God 
in it. He therefore determined to follow it impli- 
citly, except when a higher duty called upon him to 
neglect it. He at once attempted to extend his 
tour. These journeys were never undertaken from 
his own inclination. God is my witness,'' he 
said, that I never set out on one of them for f 
my own satisfaction, and that the chief end I had f 
in view was to render myself, if possible, less unfit f 
to promote the advancement of his kingdom." The I 
necessity of his journey on the present occasion, ^ 
issolated as he felt himself, and so very ill, was k 
peculiarly painful to him. But God softened it for \ 
him, though he did not see fit that he should derive \ 
any great accession of strength from it. The blow I 
that had just struck him had been too violent. He t 
no longer outstepped the narrow circle which had J 
now been marked out as the limits of exertion to | 
him. The least attempt to do so threw him into a j 
state similar to that which he had experienced dur- I 
ing those three days — a period to which he looked I 
back with terror. He thus spent the two years he t 
lived after my mother's death. All the restrictions | 
he submitted to, and all the repose he sought, f 
served but just to keep him from the dreadful ma- i 
lady into which he must otherwise have sunk, j 



i 



1 

1 

1 REV. F. A. A. GONTHIER. 91 

' They aiForded him also a short season for study, and 
i allowed him to devote some small portion of his time 
i to his family. His thoughts^ however^ were exten- 
sively occupied by a variety of other objects dear to 
I his heart. It may indeed be said of him^ that he 
I never looked with indifference on any thing. He 
1 could no longer hold intercourse with society, except 
; through the medium of a correspondence (now be- 
ll come more and more painful to keep up) by the 
jl public journals, and what he gleaned while in the 
t| society of my brother and myself. But his heart 
[ was not less open to all. Now, as in former times^ 
' there was nothing in which he did not take an in- 
terest. He inquired minutely into all that con- 
I cerned our children, their education, our relations, 
i our common friends. More especially did he receive 
with eagerness, as if it were the food that nourished 
him, every thing relating to matters of faith and to 
! the spread of the gospel. Those rapidly fleeting 
moments which we spent with him shed their in- 
; fluence over the rest of the day, and enlightened 
and purified it. The recollection of them proved as 
a guide to us, as a safeguard, and a powerful encou- 
ragement. If we were in trouble, he lightened us 
of our load ; if we were in any difficult situation, his 
advice, which was always weighed in the balance of 
the sanctuary, soon placed us in a safe position. 
Latterly, it is true, we were obliged to relinquish 
: the delightful habit which we had acquired of con- 
sulting him on every occasion. Seeing how abso- 
I lutely necessary quiet had now become to him, we 
avoided as much as possible affording him any mat- 
I ter for thought. We were the more careful on this 
I point; because we could not help seeing that his 



i 



92 



THE LIFE OF THE 



attacks were becoming more frequent, and less ex- ^ 
citement than formerly would now bring them on ; ii 
while, at the same time, the means employed to 'i 
counteract them were by degrees losing their effi- p 
cacy. t 
The last resource that remained to him, by which It 
he was enabled to regain strength, was working in i 
his garden. It was situated not far from the par- |j 
sonage, and had been laid out by himself. The |i 
ground, consisting of an abrupt declivity, had been t 
cut into terraces, and these were thickly set with \i 
trees, so distributed as to present a great variety \ 
both of situations and aspects within its small com- i 
pass. In the whole design, and in the neatness and > 
care exhibited in the smallest details of it, the dis- |^ 
position and taste of M. Gronthier were easily p 
recognised. He showed himself the same here as ^ 
in his writings, and as in his life. Here also no 
object was regarded with indifference. Every tree 
seemed to be in its right place, and had been r( 
trained with scrupulous care : each separate plant jl 
appeared to have been the peculiar object of his 
solicitude. Beautiful garden, thou wert indeed a [ 
blessed retreat, and at the same time a blessing to |1 
our beloved friend ! In thy silence and thy shade ii 
he found repose, and for a length of time thou Ir 
didst revive his worn-out, wearied frame 1 Thou ^ 
wast of use to him even in his studies, and didst 
bring thy sweet refreshment to his mind ! He 
seemed for a time to share the calm, unconscious ^ 
existence of thy plants, and then to come forth f 
re-invigorated in his intellect, with new powers for 
the work of his ministry ! His heart always seemed i 
to find rest among the fair creations of his God. In f 



REV. F. A. A. GONTHIER. 93 

] every flower lie saw a witness of tlie greatness and 
i goodness of the Most High, and a messenger of 
! Divine mercy. Even now, in visiting this spot, 
our hearts appear more open than in any other 
place to the heavenly and consoling influence of the 
language we so often heard there from his lips. 
;| Other reasons, it is true, contribute to render this 
! little spot of ground peculiarly dear to us. It was 
j there our children were accustomed to see their 
j! uncle, who was generally too weak to receive them 
i| in his own room. On the turf and on the benches 
j, of that garden he often played with them and 
' received their caresses. We also, in those seasons 
when he felt himself better, were accustomed to 
j come and seat ourselves by his side; and being less 
i fearful at such times to disturb him by our conver- 
j sation, we have often plied him with our questions, 
I and received his answers; and indeed it was there 
I we learned the little that we know of him from his 
own lips. Every conversation, all he said, remained 
deeply impressed on our memories ; and thus his 
garden has become in a manner haunted with sweet 
and interesting associations. It was in such a spot 
that we were seated together one bright May morn- 
ing, when he said to us, Nature is indeed beauti- 
ful in this place ! How sweet are these flowers ! 
What a delightful spring this is ! No : true reli- 
gion never banishes joy; it only sanctifies it. As- 
suredly God is love.^' In another part of the 
' garden, we first informed him of the loss of one of 
I our dearest friends: ^^My dear children,^ ^ he said, 
" Grod has attached so much happiness to this life 
that we form a habit of earthly enjoyment; and 
then, when afiliction comeS; we hardly understand 



I 



I 



94 THE LIFE OF THE 

it : but as tliese blessings are withdrawn one by i 
one, we begin to associate the remembrance of them f 
with our sorrow in losing them, and to find afflic- 
tion more natural to us; we learn to dread it less, \ 
and to receive it with a consciousness of the bless- ^ 
ings which accompany it/' \ 

It was on this spot that he related to his col- \' 
league in the ministry, and to myself, the account [ 
of a visit he had received (I believe after one of ^ 
his sermons) from a guilty woman, who had become : 
a sincere penitent. He described to us the grief [ 
of the wretched woman, who could at first express ^ 
herself only by her tears, which flowed " without 
ceasing. He told us how God had taught him to I 
raise up this poor penitent ; what deep repentance |, 
she showed ; the sorrow with which she still con- : 
tinned to be bowed down; and the entire change 
which took place in her conduct, and in the whole 
course of her life. ^^This change was so great,^^ 
he continued, that the seducer of the unhappy 
woman was at last himself touched at witnessing it. | 
There was such a reality in it, so much piety and y 
discretion proceeded from it, that, deeply affected, j 
he at length yielded to the conviction of his y 
grievous offence. He humbled himself before Grod, |1 
and took his yoke upon him. I have known and }| 
observed him during many years from that time, jj 
and, by the purity of his conduct, he has never 
ceased to deserve general esteem, and my own par- 1^ 
ticular confidence. He has even become, through !| 
the Divine blessing, an instrument of conversion to 
several others. 

I remember mentioning, on the same spot, to my 
uncle, an incident which had happened to myself f 



REV. F. A. A. GONTHIER. 



during a journey I had taken in France. A person 
with whom I was breakfasting turned to me and 
said; " Sir^ you ought to know at Nyon a minister 
of the gospel, whom I met with in returning from 
Marseilles. We were travelling in the same carriage. 
The party/^ continued the stranger, consisted of 
my brother, (who was a principal of one of those 
monarchical and religious missions at that time dis- 
persed through the provinces,) the Protestant pas- 
tor and myself. My brother was in all the fervour 
of his zeal ; and seeing himself seated opposite to a 
man of gentle demeanour and polished manners, he 
directly became anxious to make a convert of him. 
He thought he had succeeded, upon hearing that 
his unknown companion had already attended some 
of the meetings of the mission, as one to whom the 
concerns of religion are of the greatest value. My 
brother was already beginning to address him as 
one of his own party, when our travelling com- 
panion humbly and simply, yet in words which 
showed much judgment and learning, interrupted 
him, and pointed out the difference between vital 
religion and that which he had heard preached by 
our ministers. My brother was not accustomed to 
contradiction, and, much surprised, asked, ^What, 
then, are you not a Roman Catholic?^ ^No, I am 
not/ ^ And what, then, are you ?^ am a min- 
ister of the Reformed church/ Recovering himself 
at once, my brother immediately brought forward 
his arguments against the Reformation. I believe 
he employed the first which presented themselves to 
his mind; for the minister answered them easily, 
and with so much wisdom, ability and eloquence, 
that I could not help declaring he had conquered. 



96 



THE LIFE OF THE 



Nevertlieless I said to my brother, ^ Take courage, 
you must be victorious, for you have truth on your 
side/ Upon which he began a fresh attack. But 
he did not advance an argument which was not 
answered by his opponent ; not a word, to which 
the other did not reply with calmness, gentleness 
and with a singular charm of manner. There was 
force in his reasons, persuasion in his manner, and 
something in the very tone of his voice which pro- 
duced an irresistible effect. In short, I must con- 
fess that I was sensibly affected, and so was my 
brother, and we made up our minds to leave off 
arguing, and to finish our journey by enjoying the 
society of the amiable and interesting man with 
whom we had but a few more hours to remain. "We 
expressed our regrets when the time arrived for us 
to separate. My brother had quite laid aside his 
assumed manner, and had shown himself in his 
natural character. He could not, however, as he was 
leaving the carriage, help resuming it, and with a 
tone of authority, he exhorted our travelling com- 
panion to avoid that perdition that awaited him, 
by placing himself under the shelter of the Roman 
and apostolic church.^' I think I still see the Pro- 
testant minister, and hear his answer and the 
penetrating tone of his voice, as he said, ' Ah, sir, 
if you did but know the hajDpiness of belonging 
entirely to Jesus Christ He said no more. We 
parted, promising ourselves to meet again, should 
circumstances allow of it. 

Often since then have I thought of this excellent 
man. Often and often have I wished to see him 
again. He has even served me as a buckler of 
defence against my brother^ who with me^ as with 



REY. F. A. A. GONTHIER. 



97 



otlierSj sometimes assumes the same imperious man- 
ner as tie did on that occasion. At such times I 
simply bring the Reformed minister to his recollec- 
tion, and propose a journey to Nyon, and this never 
fails to bring him back to words of gentleness. 
And noW; sir, be so good as to tell me if you know 
the person I have been speaking of; and if you do, 
will you tell me his name, for I have forgotten it 
I pronounced the name of Gronthier, and he at once 
remembered it. My uncle perfectly recollected the 
circumstances which I have related, and which I 
had received from the lips of a stranger, in a place 
where I should never have supposed it likely for me 
to learn any thing about him. 

Let us descend a few steps lower in this garden, 
and we shall perceive on the other side an apple- 
tree, belonging to the neighbouring garden. Some 
children were one day gathering the fruit there, 
and perceiving M. Gronthier, who was then enjoying 
his own peaceful meditations, they directly began to 
sing, with loud voices, the words of a song, in 
which the " Momiers^^^ were turned into ridicule. 
In the mean time, some of the fruit had fallen 
over the paling into M. Gonthier^s garden. He 
pointed this out to them, and in a gentle voice, 
which it would have been impossible to resist, he 
begged that they would come round and gather up 
the fallen apples. They came accordingly, hanging 
their heads, while he helped them to pick up the 
fruit, talking kindly to them all the time. They 
took leave of him, looking very much ashamed; 



^ A term of derision often bestowed on religious per- 
sons in Switzerland. 

9 



98 



THE LIFE OF THE 



nor from that day do I suppose that he ever again | 
met with any such interruption from them. 

A few more words before we leave this garden. 
We were remarking to him one day, as we sat 
"beside him, that his countenance often deceived those 
who did not know him well, by its healthy ap- \ 
pearance. One of us said, '^It is because there is 
more vigour in the soul than in the body.'^ So it 
is thought/^ he answered, ^^for so it ought to be. 
It would seem that he who has suffered much 
should have learned much ; but, alas ! I only know 
that at such trying seasons one feels almost be- 
wildered. But it is not in the midst of such per- 
plexing conflicts that a right judgment can be 
formed. We must retire to the silence of our 
closet : it is there that, alone with our God, we 
shall see ourselves as we really are, and shall 
behold nothing but the most wretched weakness.^' 
The time was now fast approaching when my 
uncle was to leave his garden for the last time. 
Extreme weakness was now more and more com- 
bined with his severe sufferings. The day that he 
had purchased this garden, Fanchette had expressed 
her hopes to him that he would long find enjoyment 
there. You forget,^^ he answered, that the day 
of my death will be the day of highest enjoyment 
to me.^^ This long-wished-for day he saw ap- 
proaching nearer and nearer. He even thought it 
right to forewarn us of it at the end of the autumn. 
I My children,^^ he said, ^Hhere is a period in our 

lives when years no longer add to our strength, but 
are, on the contrary, daily depriving us of it. My 
garden has given me notice of this. Formerly I 
was able to dig in it; a few months ago I could 



it 



|| REV. F. A. A. GONTHIER. 99 

1' still handle a small spade; now I have scarcely 
j strength to stoop to tie up my young shrubs. I 
I have but little strength left, and winter is coming 
on . . . . Winter came, but it was the mild one 
I of 1834. M. Gonthier appeared less tried by it 
than he was in general. On new year's day he 
was still able to receive us all, and to give us his 
! blessing. We hoped much from the return of 
spring, and from the journey which he might then 
undertake. The first, however, which he did at- 
tempt, decided at once that his strength was en- 
j tirely gone. 

J| He was taken very ill upon arriving at G-eneva. 

He wished to set out at once on his return home, 
I but having attempted to walk from the inn to the 
I place from whence the carriage started, he found 
j himself unable to do so, and waited till the next 
' day. We saw him return home with his counte- 
! nance quite changed, and the expression of pain 
imprinted on every feature. I cannot attempt to 
describe what we felt. We understood each other's 
looks ; we foresaw that now the day of our separa- 
tion in this world could not be very far off. He 
folded us in his arms, and said, There are two 
things, my beloved children, which I can never 
express as deeply as I feel them : one is, my great 
affection for you ; the other is, the power of the 
cross of Christ in the midst of suffering.'' 
I The day following (which was the 28th of Jan- 
uary) must have been a solemn one to my uncle. 
I Thinking that his hour was at hand, he made a 
last effort, that he might leave every thing belong- 
ing to him in perfect order. All the morning, 
Fanchette saw him, or heard him, slowly coming 



100 



THE LIFE OF THE 



and going from one place to another, leaning for 
support against tlie wall as he went, and frequently 
obliged to stop to rest himself. We supposed 
that he must have been looking over his inven- 
tories, and putting every thing in its right place. 
Some of his linen he laid on one side for the poor. 
At one o^clock he descended for the last time into 
his dining-room, dined there, gave a last look at 
every object around, then turning with affectionate 
kindness to Fanchette. he said, Let us bless Grod 
every day, and look forward to the best day.'^ 
When the usual hour arrived in which we were 
accustomed to pay him our daily visit, he said to 
us, ^^How great is God^s mercy towards me, and 
with what ineffable consolations he rejoices my 
heart When we left him, he stood at his 
window, and watched us while we crossed the 
court, as he generally did. He then sat down, 
quite worn out, and ready to depart, no doubt 
blessing God, on our account as well as on his 
own, for having so ordered it that death had not 
overtaken him during one of his journeys, when 
far from us, and alone. 

The next day was one of exhaustion. He could 
not come, as usual, to his window, but was obliged 
to be satisfied with making us understand that his 
heart accompanied us. On the 30th he could not 
even sit down ; his breathing was impeded, his face 
quite drawn, and his eyes were neither able to 
bear the light nor the slightest movement before 
them. His looks, however, dwelt by turns on each 
of us, with an expression of unutterable affection. 
We saw by his countenance that he was praying for 
us, and that he blessed us. I said to him, ^^De- 



j REV. F. A. A. GONTHIER. 101 

I prived as we are of the interchange of words, there 
is one name which in itself expresses every thing we 
could desire to say to each other/ ^ 

^^Oh, JQs/^ he exclaimed, with sudden and un- 
] expected energy, when all else fades away, when 
I we can no longer connect one idea with another, 
I or scarcely dwell on a single subject, the name of 
I Jesus still remains to us. Every thing may fail 
ij and vanish away; one object endures in imperish- 
Ij able brightness ; it is ever more and more to be 
|! desired ; it is altogether lovely. This, my beloved 
i children, is the cross of Jesus Christ ! Ah, you 
can never sufficiently declare the inestimable value 
of this to every one to whom you may have ac- 
i cess. And more especially may my dear grand- 
I children find this sure refuge in the morning of 
their life V' 

I We pressed his hand at parting with him ; it 
I was cold as ice ; his lips were burning, and trem- 
bling with emotion. He had exerted himself too 
much. 

The night which followed, was, he owned to 
us, the worst he had ever passed. ^^I have not, 
however, been left alone or comfortless,^^ he hastily 
added ; ^'I experienced on my sick-bed what M. 
de la Flechere did so vividly on his death-bed, 

i the need of repeating to myself every hour that 
which makes the heart thrill with unspeakable 

i joy whenever it is really felt, — the blessed assu- 
rance that Grod is love ! This is ail you will hear 

i from my lips to-day, my beloved children ; but 
I will not cease to beseech the Lord that he 
will make known to each of you, by the life- 
giving unction of the Holy Spirit, the meaning 



j 



102 



THE LITE OF THE 



of this Scripture in all its grandeur and fulness 
of delight/' 

"We now considered that my uncle had reached 
his lowest possible degree of weakness. He could 
not move himself without bringing on fever. Still, 
however, he rose every morning, thinking it right 
to do so as long as Grod gave him the power. As 
he was obliged to rest frequently, it took him some 
hours to dress himself. When this was accom- 
plished, he would then, stopping as he passed from 
one chair to another, at length reach his couch, 
where he remained during the rest of the day. 
From thence his looks were turned towards those 
objects most dear to him. First of all, to an em- 
broidered screen, the work of his wife; and he 
lifted the cloth which covered it, with an emotion 
that had never lessened. After he had looked at it 
he would turn to those promises in his Bible which 
assure the children of God that they shall meet in 
heaven. 

Over the chimney-piece was a likeness of his 
daughter. We have been told that a servant, soon 
after the death of Louise, had let this picture 
fall, and that it had, in consequence, been so in- 
jured and effaced that no trace of what it had been 
remained. M. Gronthier never complained of this 
accident. It was the girl herself who mentioned 
it. He thought it could never be repaired, and 
mournfully preserved the shattered fragments. His 
sorrow was only known by the joy which he showed 
when the drawing was restored to its former state. 

For many successive days we could only have a 
glimpse of our dear uncle. On Monday, the 3d of 
February, Fanchette came to us, in a state of much 



REV. F. A. A. GONTHIER. 



103 



agitation, to bring us a message from him. M. 
Gonthier/' said she, has just formed a resolution 
which he bids me communicate to you. Notwith- 
standing all his endeavours for several days to re- 
gain some portion of his strength, he finds that he 
continues to get weaker and weaker : it appears to 
him that his time is now very short ; and he wishes 
to employ the little that remains in doing what he 
can ; at all events he wishes to make the trial. He 
proposes therefore to receive to-morrow, by his bed- 
side, all those of his parishioners who may desire 
once more to hear the voice of their pastor; and if 
God should give him strength, he will speak to his 
flock, and will pray with them and for them. I 
am going to make his intention known about the 
parish.'^ 

We were deeply affected at hearing this. It was 
requiring us, the members of his own family, to lay 
aside all our private feelings as sons and daughters, 
and to consider our beloved father only in the light 
of the minister of Christ and the apostle of his 
everlasting consolations. We knelt down in prayer 
to seek, from above, strength for our breaking hearts; 
and committing the whole to God, we waited, not 
without anxiety, for the morrow. 

Towards four o^clock, M. Gonthier^s room and 
the adjoining apartment began to fill, and soon 
every place, even to the passages, was crowded with 
persons, who, not being able to enter, tried at least 
to catch a few words from the lips of their dying 
minister. Then, raising himself in his bed, and 
making an effort which was astonishing even to him- 
self, he addressed his flock. His words came forth, 
one by one, from a voice at first very weak, but 



104 THE LIFE OF THE , 

wtich acquired strength as he proceeded. Those j 
who heard him have not forgotten the sweetness and , 
gentleness of his tone^ nor the earnest sincerity of \ 
his manner. I 
He began : 0 my God, assist thy poor weak , 
servant, and put words in his mouth which, by the |j 
power of thy Holy Spirit, may conduce in some y 
degree to thy glory, and to the benefit of those who ^ 
hear them.'^ 

After this short prayer, he turned his eyes to- [. 
wards his auditors, and addressed them, as nearly 'u 
as I can recollect, in these words : My beloved ^ 
brothers and sisters I This church has never known, ^ 
and never can know, my deep affection for it. My ^ 
heaviest cross, during the last few years, has been t 
my want of power to give some proofs of this, and ^ 
my inability to perform the public service among 
you. But it was the Lord who deprived me of the 
means and of the strength to do so. I had only to 

bow myself down and adore him I may at ^ 

least tell you that I have never passed one day with- J 
out offering up prayers for this beloved church at the 
throne of grace; unworthy prayers, I confess, they 
have been, and so very langTiid that I have need to 
be deeply humbled on account of them : the Lord, 
however, knows that they have at least been sin- 
cere. 

But I have to speak to you about things of 
much higher importance. I am addressing you, in 
all human probability, for the last time. It is true 
that God alone can number our days ; he can re- 
store me yet, but I do not think he will. Let me 
therefore at this awful moment, when my earthly 
career is in all likelihood well-nigh ended; and when 



ij KEY. F. A. A. GONTHIER. 105 

E 

1i I must soon appear before the tribunal of my Judge 
Ij — at this moment; when disguise becomes impossi- 
ble; when I see eternity full before me — let me 
! declare to you most solemnly from my very heart, 
j and before God who hears me, that nothing; abso- 
] lutely nothing in myself; can give me the least con- 
l fidencC; or the least security for the future. What 
'|! the world might be tempted to call my righteous- 
I nesS; (pardon me, 0 my Grod; that such a word 
jl should have passed my lipS;) is in my own eyes but 
I as ' filthy rags ; ^ and in thy sight; 0 Lord most holy, 
\ how infinitely more vile and offensive ! If I have 
injured no one on earth; (which however I do not 
I think any man can say; in speaking of himself; had 
i he injured his neighbour in no other way than by 
I his careless wordS;) not a day has passed when I 
have not sinned against Him from whom I have re- 
ceived every thing. Powers of mind; affections of 
^ the heart; strength of body; all proceeded from his 
infinite bounty ; I ought therefore to have employed 
all these gifts in his service; and never to have 
thought; spokeU; or acted; but with the earnest desire 
of pleasing him, and submitting myself entirely to 
his holy guidance. And when I consider what I 
have been in the midst of such astonishing mercies, 
I see an immense heap of transgressions rise up; and 
arrange themselves as in battle array against me; 
so that if I looked to myself alonC; I must plunge 
at once into an abyss of despair. 

But; blessed be Grod; yea, a thousand times 
blessed ! I know in whom I have believed. I know 
Him who left heaveU; with all its happiness and all 
its glory; to come down to earth to seek and to save 
those who were lost. I know that we have redemp- 



106 



THE LIFE OP THE 



tion througli his bloody even the remission of our 
sins, according to the riches of his grace. I know 
that there is now no condemnation to them which 
are in Christ Jesus ; that he ever liveth to make in- 
tercession for us, and to save those who come unto 
God by him. So that, blessed be God, all fear is 
banished from my heart : death has lost its sting ; 
the grave has lost all its terrors I I can even say, 
that, notwithstanding my strong affection for those 
beloved beings who are yet preserved to me through 
the goodness of God, the day of my departure will 
be a high festival to me, a day of unspeakable and 

glorious happiness for I see heaven open, 

and my Saviour waiting to receive me. He says to 
me, as to his disciples, The will of my Father is, that 
where I am, there shall you be also. 

Allow me to tell you, my beloved friends, that 
during the last few days I have been suffering at 
times most acutely ; but my merciful and faithful 
Saviour has never failed to support me. He has 
not for an instant forsaken me, but has shed his 
peace and his comfort in my heart. And when the 
night has come on, with its long hours of darkness 
and suffering, I am bound to declare, to the glory 
of God, that my Saviour was ever near me ; so that 
I felt calm and peaceful under his keeping. During 
the time of my earthly pilgrimage, as some of you 
know, I have met with many painful trials ] such 
trials as overwhelm the soul and leave their deep 
traces behind them have crossed my life ; but 
Christ was with me also at those trying times j his 
grace upheld me, and I found strength and comfort 
in him. 

WheU; therefore, we have made trial of such a 



! 

j REV. F. A. A. GONTHIER. 107 

I Friend, and found him an unfailing friend, a friend 
l| who is all-sufficient, do you not think that we must 
earnestly desire that those whom we love should in 
like manner attach themselves to him, and find in 
him the same comfort, the same blessings and the 
same peace ? 

I May I be permitted, a poor weak creature as I am, 
! to ask you a few questions upon these subjects ? 
ij I know that there are in this church, I love to 
believe it, a considerable number of persons who 
jl have come to their Saviour, and who love him in 
I earnest; for this I have often and often blessed 
God. But this treasure of faith and love which has 
been bestowed upon them, have they carefully 
i watched over it to preserve it from every defilement? 
I Do they seek to preserve it entire, to increase it ? 
j Do they shun every place, and every occasion, where 
' it might be endangered ? If they examine them- 
' selves. . . if they recall the zeal and the fervour of 
their former days, even of their first love, how many 
sighs will escape from their sorrowing hearts ! Ah, 
let those who do feel thus weak and unsteady, come 
humbly, and as for the first time, to Him who is 
ready to confirm the feeble knees, as soon as he is 
called upon in faith. Others among you are still 
fluctuating between the gospel and the world. You 
i wish for all the joy and the comfort which are to be 
I found in Christ, and you wish only to keep back, 
I perhaps, a single desire, a single taste, or a single 
habit ) but is it not this very desire, or taste, or 
I habit, which comes between you and God ? Here 
is the real source of your secret dissatisfaction. 
Christ has said, you cannot serve two masters : as 
he gives himself in his fulness to you, you must; in 



i 



108 



THE LIFE OF THE 



your turn, make an entire suiTender of yourselves 
to him. Understand me, however, I do not ask 
you to do this in your own strength, but I know 
that you can do all things through Christ which 
strengtheneth you ; and I earnestly entreat you to 
come to him, and implore him to teach you how to 
give up every thing which might keep you from 
him. Draw near to God through Christ Jesus; and 
the blessed day when you shall have given yourself 
to him without reserve, will be indeed a day of joy 
unspeakable to your hearts. 

" Among those whom I rejoice to see around me, 
there are some, perhaps, who have never yet seri- 
ously thought about the concerns of their souls. 
This, alas I is too probable. They allow day after 
day to glide away from them, while they are en- 
gaged in the trifling pursuits, the petty interests, 
the childish amusements, which agitate or divert 
a world at ennaity with God. I call upon such to 
consider themselves, and then to look steadfastly at 
me The new kind of pulpit from which I ad- 
dress them speaks in much more eloquent language 
than any feeble words of mine ; for death gives its 
unearthly force to the appeal. Let them remem- 
ber that they themselves most certainly must die ; 
they must be brought to the very brink of eternity 
— boundless, unchangeable eternity, and it may be 
sooner than they suppose. Y^hat will become of 
them at that hour of extremity, if they have not 
found a Saviour in Christ J esus ? I turn to you, 
my friends, you who feel yourselves to be in this 
state : I beseech you, in the name of God, in the 
name of your dearest interests, to begin at last to 
think of the concerns of your souls I I beseech you 



!l REV. F. A. A. GONTHIER. 109 

I! 

'i to fall down at the foot of the cross of your Divine 
!i Saviour, and ask him to open your eyes. I be- 
ll seech you to take the Holy Scriptures in your 
I hands, to search them as in the presence of Grod, 
I and to pray at the same time for the light of his 
Holy Spirit, that you may be enabled to say, 
I ^ Speak, Lord, for thy servant heareth !' Behold, 
I Jesus stands at the door of your heart, and knocks : 
1 the words which you now hear from the lips of one 
j! of his weakest servants, they are another of his gra- 
il cious calls to you Oh, come then, come to 

our Lord Jesus, who will supply all your need, 
' who will himself make rich amends for every thing 
else, who comforts us in all our troubles — come to 
1 this perfect Friend. If you have felt touched in 
I any way while you have been here, do not, when 
! you leave me, do not suffer this impression to pass 
I away. As soon as you return home, fall down, I 
I beseech you, upon your knees, and ask Grod to 
strengthen this good impression ; do this again to- 
night ; do it again to-morrow ; do it every day. .... 
and if you persevere, little by little, day by day, 
you will feel new thoughts arise in your hearts; and, 
casting off the succession of cares, perplexities and 
fears which are the portion of all those who do not 
choose Christ for their refuge, you will begin to 
live in an atmosphere of peace and happiness to 

which you have been hitherto strangers If, 

however, there should be one present still cold, and 
' careless, and unconcerned, one who has closed his 
I ears against the gracious and the loving call of his 
God ; 0 Lord, send an arrow of thine to his soul ; 
may it pierce him, and cleave to him, and leave 
him no rest till he is brought captive to the foot of 
thy cross ! 

^ 10 



I 



110 



THE LIFE OF THE 



I have yet one more request to make. We are 
not now, I know, about to approach the table of i 
the Lord; but accept from me the little book* 
which will be given to you as you leave this house. 
Pray read it, thinking seriously, while you do so, f 
of your present state ; nay, search your hearts i 
strictly and with sincerity ; and perhaps, Grod help- [ 
ing, it may be the means of giving you a clearer ' 
insight into the state of your heart than you ever 
had before. 

In conclusion, I offer to God my most fervent 
supplications for all belonging to his church, which 
is so very dear to me. I beseech him to grant 
unto it his Spirit of life.' Blessed be his holy 
name that he has given you in its first minister a 
pastor after his own heart, one who unites zeal with 
faithfulness, and whose ardent desire is to win souls 
to Christ. I pray most earnestly that Grod will 
bless his ministry among you. I beseech him also, 
when he shall have removed me from this world, to 
put a minister in my place animated by the same 
faith and the same anxiety for souls as my col- 
league. May God also bless the gospel labours of 
my beloved brethren De Charriere and Testuz ; and 
should it please him to restore my two beloved sons 
to that health and strength which they would gladly 
spend in his service, may he bless their labours 
most abundantly ! 

could desire to offer up many, many more 
prayers at the throne of grace, but my extreme 
weakness and exhaustion will not allow me. I 
shall reserve them within my heart, to offer them 



* Exercises for the Communion. 



jl 

j REV. F. A. A. GONTHIER. Ill 

tip to the Lord in secret and alone And 

now grant, 0 my God ! to those who are assembled 
here, that we may all, without one exception, meet 
I together in heaven ! Then we shall know how 
! much thou hast loved us ; then shall we love, with 
a more perfect love, that compassionate, that faith- 
ful Friend, whose love for us has known no limits, 
who has purchased for us such glorious happiness, 
I and at a price beyond calculation. It is in the 
I name and through the merits of this blessed Saviour 
I' that I beseech thee, 0 my G-od ! to hear and answer 
my prayer ; for the love of thy Son, our prevailing 

Saviour, Jesus Christ. Amen Amen.'^ 

I Such was the pastor^ s last farewell. Till he had 
! finished speaking, God gave him strength, astonish- 
ing strength. It seemed as if his youth, for a short 
season, was renewed to him, that he might fulfil 
I this the last office of his ministry. His thoughts 
arose fresh and vigorous, and flowed in succession, 
with ease and freedom ; they were not only con- 
nected, but full of energy. This duty accom- 
plished, it appeared as if M. Gonthier's task was 
ended ; that heaven would now open to receive him, 
and that an exertion like the one he had just made 
must complete the breaking up of a frame already 
fearfully shattered by its severe and repeated shocks. 
Witnesses, as we were, to all that he suffered, and 
to his ardent longing to reach the end of his course, 
i we ought perhaps to have wished, with him, for the 
j termination of all his earthly troubles. We own, 
! however, that we could not forbear beseeching God 
that he might be spared to us a little longer. It 
I seemed as if our prayers were answered, for he lived 
I yet four months. The thought of having given to 



112 



THE LIFE OF THE 



his beloved flock a last proof of his affection for 
them seemed to soothe him in the midst of his con- 
tinued agonies; a feeling of unspeakable joy took 
possession of his hearty as in secret he thought of 
the unexpected favour which he had received from 
Grod, and these feelings had the effect of reviving 
him for a while. He would willingly have lifted 
up his voice to glorify Grod with loud praises for 
all his mercies, but he had only strength enough to 
say to us, I have indeed experienced that out of 
nothingness Grod can draw forth words to his 
praise/^ More weeks of suffering passed away. 
Seeing how much the effort to speak cost him, we 
remained but a short time with him in our daily 
visits, and contented ourselves with a word or with 
a look from him. He had no sooner, however, re- 
gained a little strength by perfect repose, than he 
wished to turn it to account. He received the visit 
of a relation who had been an old friend of his ; 
and a few days afterwards that of a young man to 
whom he was very much attached. He also desired 
that our children should be brought to him, and, 
after talking to them of the love of Grod, he en- 
treated them to ask Grod every day to teach them to 
love him : he then put his hands upon them, and 
blessed them one by one. Several days after this, 
he desired us to sit down near his bed, rang for 
Fanchette, and said he wished her to hear what he 
had to tell us, and then spoke to us as follows : 

" My dear children, my own dear children, I feel 
an anxious desire to explain myself to you on one 
point, that you may quite understand me ; you will 
then join with me in blessing God for the goodness 
he has continued to manifest towards me. You know 



I 

j REV. F. A. A. GONTHIER. 113 

I what strength was lent to me a month ago^ when I 
I was permitted to receive by my bedside so many of 
my beloved flock, and yon have seen, and still see, the 
I extreme irritability of nerves under which I have 
laboured since that period. It is on this subject 
that I wish to speak to you. You may remember 
that, two years ago, at the time my beloved sister 
, was taken from us, I made an exertion to visit her, 
i I far beyond my strength, and after her death I fell 
1 into a state which I can never think of without 

' shuddering or rather, without recalling to 

jj mind the mercy of my God, who neither then nor 
I at any time forsook me. I was three days without 
1 being able to lie or to sit down, but was obliged, in 
order to avoid suffocation, to walk rapidly up and 
j down my chamber. The pulsations of my heart, 
j more violent than I can describe, seemed to spread 
I from thence to every part of my head, and the 
throbbing of my temples was as strong as that of 
my heart. Every instant I expected that the next 
would deprive me of my senses : the abyss was 
there — I saw it — I was near its fearful edge, so 
near ... so very near, and my Grod did not permit 
me to fall into it. He only showed me my danger, 
that he might at the same time make known to me 
his great deliverance. Oh let me bless his holy 
name for this fresh proof of his mercy towards me ! 
About three weeks afterwards, I was enabled to go 
to Lyons, and there I saw my physician. Having 
felt my pulse, he was frightened at its rapidity, 
though so much reduced then from what it had 
been. Among other directions which he gave .me, 
he insisted more particularly on the observance of 
one. Speaking with that authority to which his 



114 



THE LIFE OF THE 



experience and his friendship for me entitled him, 
he conjured me never again to think of speaking in 
public ; and pointing out the peril from which I had 
just been preserved, he assured me that it must 
again overtake me, if I did not carefully avoid 
whatever might in any degree give rise to it. You 
will judge, after hearing this, how urgent must the 
wish of my heart have been to address my flock 
once again, and how powerful the inward feeling 
which impelled me. But other circumstances con- 
spired to induce me to listen to this secret whisper. 
First of all, I must tell you, that as soon as I had 
familiarized myself to this idea, a great many 
thoughts were presented to my mind, at once clear 
and well arranged. You know, for you have some- 
times witnessed it, how difficult it often is for me to 
connect two ideas together ] but now they succeeded 
each other without any effort on my part, nay, even 
with a rare facility. This is not all. I never pos- 
sessed a good memory as to mere words, and of late 
years my powers of memory have been altogether 
weakened ] but words now came readily without my 
seeking, and when once come, they remained fixed 
in my mind, as they might have done to a person 
possessed of a good memory. All was thus prepared 
without anxiety, or trouble, or effort. Add to this, 
that my pulsations had left me for two days — I do 
not say my palpitations, which are quite distinct. 
These last accompany fever, and are irregular; 
while the pulsations, on the contrary, are perfectly 
regular, shaking, with violent and measured strokes, 
both the head and heart. These had ceased. In 
short, my weakness was now so great that it seemed 
to me almost impossible I could again experience 



I REV. F. A. A. GONTHIER. 115 

|i the return of so violent a malady. I foresaw, in- 
I deed, that I might suddenly stop short in my ad- 
' dress. I did not think it improbable that expres- 
I sion might fail me, and that I should do nothing 
I but stammer, and seek in vain for words. Shall I 
, hide it from you, my beloved friends ? Why should 
; I ? I will therefore tell you. I was ready to bear 
I any mortification that might be in store for me. 
j I would not willingly assert any thing which I do 
not feel assured that God, who sees me, had not 
I really imparted to me. But it is true, that if it 
, had pleased my heavenly Father to humble me, 
' (every heart of man has need of this, and my own 
much more than any other,) I should have submit- 
1 ted, I hope not without rejoicing. I do not say 
that afterwards I continued to feel in this manner, 
but, at the time I am speaking of, I certainly did. 
When I felt assured of this, I hesitated no longer. 
I I rang my bell, and made known my resolution to 
my good Fanchette, and begged she would inform 
you. You know how God sustained me, and that 
he did enable me to speak, not certainly without 
weakness, but, to my own astonishment, without 
difficulty, and in a sufficiently connected manner. 

^^I must now say a few words about the days 
which succeeded. I soon experienced that He who 
gives all things, gives when and in what manner 
I it pleases him. I had a great desire to see two 
, persons very dear to me, and I cannot tell you how 
happy I felt in receiving them. But when they 
j were gone, I found that I must for a time deny 
I myself any such enjoyment. After my interview 
with the first, my pulsations returned, accompanied 
' by the most tumultuous agitation^ and when the 



i 



I 



116 THE LIFE OF THE j 

second visit was over, I was in a state like that 1 

from which, as you are well aware, the i 

tender compassion of God alone delivered me. I 
am once more delivered. Join with me, therefore, 1 
my beloved children, in blessing him, with your ) 
whole heart, who in his great mercy has never yet |1 
forsaken me.'' It is not/' he added in a feeble p 
voice, ^Hhat I do not feel more tranquil now. t 
Nay, I might perhaps be enabled to receive any f 

one who might wish to see me but you f 

will now understand the necessity I felt of explain- i 
ing all this to you." ) 
We said but little in reply. The expression of i 
what we felt I reserved for writing. We merely f 
entreated him not to follow the inclination of his !• 
kind heart by receiving visitors, and to be careful I' 
not to deprive himself of rest, God having plainly 
shown us how very necessary it was to him. We 
declared our own willingness to set the first exam- 
ple of submission to those privations which his 
state now absolutely required, feeling assured that 
we should derive a gratification from our self- 
denial, if it should become the means of alleviat- 
ing, in any way, his sufferings. He made us un- 
derstand that he agreed to what we said, and would 
henceforth live in that solitude to which the Lord 
called him. 

In weakness and loneliness, he was now shut up 
within a more narrowed circle. His habitual 
energy, however, did not forsake him. His uni- 
versal love still felt the need of being strength- 
ened, his faith of being purified, his brotherly 
kindness of being more perfectly developed. He 
no longer hoped to behold his friends on earth. 



i| REV. F. A. A. GONTHIER. 117 

j| His voice would be heard loj them no more. But 
the presence of quiet thoughts still remained to 
: him. He could still call them to remembrance; 
|| he could still pray for them. The names of every 
one he loved were by turns upon his lips ; those 
friends passed in succession before his spirit, which 
j now seemed but to exist in the exercise of prayer 
|| and faith. Every day, in what he called his 
jj " little journey of prayer/^ he visited, as far as he 

!was able, every one of them ; he could not bear to 
forget a single being dear to him. He always con- 
j eluded by dwelling on two or three names, which 
remained more particularly in his thoughts during 
the' rest of the day. In this manner did he be- 
I queath his legacy of affection to all his friends. 
He did so to each of the churches he had served. 
When he heard that at Nismes the church had of- 
fered up public prayers for their former pastor, the 
tears flowed from his eyes. I have been united 
to that church,'^ he said, ^^by the closest bands of 
affection. I cannot express to you my deep regret 
when called to leave it, nor have I from that time 
ever ceased to bear it on my heart in my prayers to 
God.^^ He often wept in reading the letters he re- 
ceived from Nismes. How gracious is Grod,'^ he 
would say, to have given to one so unworthy as 
myself a place in the affections of so many of his 
children ! How very good and merciful he is ! 
How can I help blessing him, even with tears of 
joy and gratitude V' He would then, in a voice 
which became for the time powerful and solemn, 
bless those of his friends who had visited him in 
his solitude. Thus was his life still in some man- 
ner spent in active and useful occupation. Doubt- 



118 



THE LIFE OF THE 



less it was so in the sight of him who ceased not 
to feed that spirit of deep affection within him, 
which transmuted every thing that came to it into 
holy love. 

But if M. Gonthier had not ceased to exist even 
for his friends, the prolongation of his life was an i 
inestimable blessing to us his children. What a j 
glorious sight were we permitted to behold ! We ' 
saw death, with its accompaniments of suffering i 
and anguish, take its stand by the bedside of him 
whom we tenderly loved, allow him no intermis- 
sion, and imprint upon every feature its pale and 
ghastly characters, and yet, when the fii'st shock 
was over, we could look upon it without terror. 
Our first impression had given place to a feeling of 
deep emotion, at once sweet and solemn. The 
mortal life of our father was on the point of being 
extinguished ; his eyes had no longer the power to 
remain unclosed, nor could his hand return our 
gentle pressure ; but there was something in the 
midst of all this which neither fever nor intense 
suffering, nor the languor which followed, could 
disturb. The inward man remained still youthful 
and unimpaired within that mortal frame which 
earth was now reclaiming as its own, and continued 
to develop its hidden germ and principle of life in 
the midst of the dissolution of its earthly taber- 
nacle. Through the thick darkness which shrouded 
the bed of death, the voice of his immortal spirit 
hailed the dawn of eternal day ! Who was it, 0 
beloved friend ! that cheered thee with this glo- 
rious light ? Who gave thee such a sure and cer- 
tain hope ? Who taught thee to smile in the midst 
of suffering ? Thou hast often and often told us, 



REV. F. A. A. GONTHIER. 



119 



and thou hast desired that heaven and earth should 
be the witnesses to thy words. There is but one way 
in which a sinner can be justified, and that is by 
the blood and righteousness of our Lord Jesus 
Christ. There is but one power by which fallen 
man can become regenerate, and that is by the 
Spirit of our Grod. J esus ! that single name — how 
j' often hast thou uttered that one name Jesus, when 
I thou hast wished to speak on many glorious sub- 
j jects, but the strength to do so was denied thee. 
I That one word, Jesus, was to thee the expression 
i of every thing ; it comprehended all in all. Yes,^' 
thou hast added, ^^and when one has received such 
■ surpassing consolation as he has vouchsafed to me 
i from the first days of my illness until the present 
j time, then indeed we are led to repeat, with inex- 
pressible joy and gratitude, not only the separate 
word, Jesus, but, My Jesus ! my Saviour 

What deep wretchedness we should have felt, 
had not faith been given us to believe that such a 
never-failing Friend was watching over our beloved 
father, and that in such high keeping he was safe. 
Deprived, as we were, by his extreme weakness, of 
the comfort of being near him, we knew that some- 
times he sank fainting under his sufferings, and 
remained for a long time quite insensible upon his 
couch. Fanchette found him one day just coming 
to himself, after having thus fainted away in trying 
to reach his apartment. Seeing her look of alarm, 
'^Bo you not know/^ he said, his countenance as 
calm and as full of blessed confidence as usual, 
that we are always well kept ? Let us never forget 
this.^^ 

Alas ! I forgot it but too frequently. " He is 



120 



THE LIFE OF THE 



alone this thought was constantly before me ; 
he is alone and dying/' 

One day; on leaving him^ I felt almost overcome 
by the anguish of mind caused by this reflection, 
and wandered on, scarcely knowing whither I went, . 
till, finding myself close to the lake, my notice was 
attracted by a little flower which grew alone upon 
the naked shore. It was the first I had seen that 
spring. I asked myself the question. Who has 
caused this fair and lonely flower to spring up in 
this spot, among these stones and broken frag- 
ments ? It seemed as if the flower answered me, 
and that its answer was re-echoed by every thing 
in nature. It was the answer which my heart 
needed at that moment. It said to me, as from my 
Saviour, Is not thy God present here ? And if he 
has clothed this short-lived flower with such bril- 
liant colours, is he watching with less tender care 
over the soul that he has created to know him, to 
love him, and to tmst in him I recognised the 
consoling voice of my Saviour; and as I stood 
there, my tears flowed. I felt humbled at my want 
of faith. I prayed for pardon, and was comforted. 
I recollected that I had often heard from my dear 
uncle's lips the lesson which I had just learned 
from the lonely flower. I remembered the num- 
berless proofs he had received of his heavenly Fa- 
ther's love; I called to mind his own assured and 
steadfast hope, and the happiness that soon awaited 
him in heaven ; and these thoughts, accompanied 
by the Divine blessing, helped to restore peace and 
tranquillity to my heart. 

In the mean while my uncle, on his part, though 
moving in a far purer and more elevated sphere. 



REV. F. A. A. GONTHIER. 



121 



was acquiring fresh experience from the study of 
his own heart. He had also his inward struggles; 
and the prolongation of his life, dear to his friends, 
and most precious to his family, was still more 
useful to himself in his advancement towards per- 
fect holiness. We were witnesses to one of his in- 
ward conflicts. It was on the only day, during that 
interval of four months, when he felt a passing 
glow of life. During our short visit, I thought I 
saw an expression which reminded me of his former 
energy, and a thrill shot through my heart, as if 
my father was restored to me. We looked at each 
other, and he easily guessed what was passing in 
my mind. As soon as we were gone, Fanchette 
heard him get up and make the trial to walk a few 
steps across his room, supporting himself with both 
his hands as he did so. He then rang his bell, and 
with a saddened countenance gave her his coat to 
brush and make ready for him. 

^^Who would have thought it,^^ he said, on her 
return, that I should ever again wear this coat, 
which you have made to look so neat ! God^s 
blessed will be done ! Ah I if he should think it 
right to restore me to health, how solemnly should 
I be called upon to consider my ways, nay, to weigh 
every action, and to live anew to his glory. 

You would look upon your recovery as a trial,' ^ 
said Fanchette. 

"Ah ! judge if it would not be so,'^ he answered, 
"after having seen the gate of heaven so very near! 
But that which is my heavenly Father's will 
must always seem good and pleasant to me; and 
such, in fact, it always is.'^ 

During the remainder of the day, the struggle 



122 



THE LIFE OF THE 



having doubtless ceased within him, his countenance 
declared still more strikingly the resignation, the 
confiding love and the peace which were its ha- 
bitual expression. 

This appearance of returning health, however, 
lasted but one day. The very exertion he had 
made to try his strength, brought back his fever, 
and he passed a worse night than ever. A return 
also of the north wind increased the irritability of 
his nerves and his inflammatory symptoms to a high 
degree, and though the windows were kept care- 
fully and closely shut, his mouth and his lips were 
so much swollen that he could not speak without 
suffering violent pain. ^^We shall understand one 
another without the help of words,^' I said to 
him. 

"Yes,^^ he replied, "in blessing God under this 
'dispensation, as well as every other.^' — "God be 
blessed for ever!^^ were the only words he could 
say to us on the morrow. We could only exchange 
looks during the days which followed. He gave 
us his blessing, placing one hand on his heart, and 
lifting up the other, though not without difficulty, 
toward heaven. Whatever else he had to say to us 
he endeavoured to put upon paper, and wrote in a 
little book, under the form of prayer, the following 
thoughts : — 

18th March. — " 0 Lord our God, grant that we 
may constantly fix our thoughts on the glorious 
promises which thou hast given us in thy word, so 
that, deeply impressed with the sense of such won- 
derful mercy, and keeping in mind what ought to 
be the conduct of citizens of heaven, we may desire 
nothing so much as to purify our hearts, by the 



REV. F. A. A. GONTHIER, 



123 



help of thy Holy Spirit, from all pollutions of the 
flesh and of the spirit, and to perfect holiness in thy 
fear and love 

19th March. — ^' 0 Lord God, grant that we may 
labour for that meat which endureth unto ever- 
lasting life, with at least as much zeal as the chil- 
dren of this generation do for the meat which 
perisheth. Ah ! ought not our zeal to be infinitely 
greater than theirs ? Grant us, Lord, the grace to 
understand this, and to feel it, that from henceforth 
we may not advance so slowly along our onward 
course, but move swiftly towards our heavenly call- 
ing." 

20th March.- — 0 Lord, in thy great mercy thou 
hast permitted us to taste how good and gracious 
thou art. But thou hast taught us, that after having 
attained this sweet, this blessed experience, we 
should nourish ourselves with pure and spiritual 
milk, in order that we may grow thereby. Oh may 
prayer and the milk of thy word be our greatest 
enjoyment; that, feeding ever upon it, we may 
grow in grace, in love and in the knowledge of 
thee ; so that in all things our will may be con- 
formed to thy will : and do thou, 0 Lord, bring 
into captivity every thought to the obedience of 
Christ 

When the tendency to inflammation had some- 
what abated, my uncle began to address some few 
words to us in conversation. On the 21st of March 
he said to us, How gracious is the Lord to me ! 
He has now given me to see more^ clearly, and at 
times to feel more powerfully than before, the long 
succession of his mercies towards me. At the sight 
of such innumerable benefits, the soul melts into 



124 



THE LIFE OF THE 



gratitude. 0 my beloved friends^ bless bim with 
me, and for me/^ 

On the 22d of March. — ^^N'o one can tell what 
he loses, who does not familiarize himself to the 
blessed habit of praise and thanksgiving. I do 
not think that on earth there is a more delightful 
employment than that of blessing him to whom all 
blessings belong. Oh that I could make known 
to every one what I have felt at those times, when 
the Lord, in his tender compassion, has granted 
me ease after suffering; or when, in still greater 
mercy, he has revealed to me more clearly the 
greatness of my deliverance through Christ Jesus; 
or when, after opening to me a brighter glimpse 
of the joys of heaven, he has at the same time 
given me grace to praise him, with some degree 
of warmth, for all these his wonderful mercies. 
Yes, and I have often felt the desire to bless him 
yet again for granting me the power of blessing 
■ him : such happiness had I tasted in doing so 

23d of March, the first day in Passion Week. 
— "What a week have we just entered upon ! What 
recollections does it not awaken ! What amazing 
love! What rich blessings I Where is the human 
h^art of man, who can, while here below, compre- 
hend the immensity and extent of these blessings ? 
Ah ! at least let us pray without ceasing, that the 
Lord will vouchsafe to reveal to us as much of his 
glorious goodness as our present weakness can 
apprehend, and that he will put into our hearts 
such love towards him, that we may make a less 
■unworthy return to him who has loved us with 
such surpassing love ! Yes, my beloved children, 
let us always pray for this love, ever for love, ever 



REV. E. A. A. GONTHIER. 



125 



for more love, and with love every other grace 
will be ours. How joyfully shall we then go for- 
ward in the ways of the Lord! How dear, how 
sacred must his will, must all his will, then become 
to us.^' 

28th of March, Good Friday.— What a day is 
this, my beloved children ! No words of man can 
express what we should feel upon this day! Our 
desire, at least, will be to kneel in thought at the 
foot of the cross, and there to worship, to admire 
and to praise with all the powers of our souls, 
and with all the ardour it may be given us to feel !'' 

5th April. — ^^What will be the issue of my ill- 
ness, God alone knows. If I dared to form any 
secret wish about it, you know what that wish 

would be But I abstain from this. Thy 

will alone, 0 my God ! no will of mine, be done 1 
There is nothing but darkness in me. Thou only 
art light ! unerring wisdom ! infinite goodness ! 
therefore, Lord, do with me whatever may seem 
good unto thyself !^^ 

On the 11th he showed us a letter he had re- 
ceived from one of his most valued friends, saying, 
"Here is a delightful letter, except for the praises 
it contains. Praises! when they are given to us, 
let us at once translate them thus : — Hasten, poor 
wretched sinner, hasten to embrace, with fresh 
ardour, that cross, without which thou wert lost, 
immediately lost. Before it, the false scaffolding 
on which men desire to raise thee will soon crumble 
into nothing, and thou wilt find thyself sunk to thy 
proper level, surrounded by thy wretched unworthi- 
ness and by thy innumerable sins, which Jesus 
alone could cover and blot out/' 



11« 



126 



THE LIFE OF THE 



On the 15 til of April lie had still strength enough 
to address us in these words: Among the benefits 
to be derived from sickness^ more especially when 
our sufferings are sharp and prolonged^ there is one 
about which I wish to speak to you. It is^ that we 
are led to fix our eyes more constantly upon suffer- 
ings of a totally different nature^ and infinitely more 
dreadful ; and meeting the compassionate looks of 
our Saviour^ we learn to bless and love him more 
and more." 

Again for several days we could only press our 
beloved father's hand; without hearing a word from 
his lips. 

On the 8th of May, he could merely articu- 
late: Without Christ what would have become 
of me ? I cannot even think of it without shud- 
dering I'^ 

The 9th. — ^^Till now I have been enabled to for- 
bear asking Grod to diminish my sufferings, but 
rather to give me a full acquiescence in his will 

all else will soon come to an end — he 

could say no more. 

On the 10th. — ^^One day in the Lord's courts is 
better than a thousand elsewhere — and an eternity 
in those courts T' — and then the words, ^^Oh, to 
iove I" gently escaped his lips, not once, but again, 
and yet a third time. 

The 11th. — ^^Not a day passes in which we have 
not fresh sins to bring forth in contrite confession 
before the Lord — not a day in which we are not 
sustained by a fresh supply of his all-sufficient 
grace. Ought not then our love to keep pace with 
these benefits 

On the 12th he put off his clothes for the last 



REV. F. A. A. GONTHIER. 



127 



time. It was the anniversary of his wife^s death. 
He said to us^ referring to this subject : The 
children of God are enabled to speak with calmness 
about these temporary separations. Twenty-six 
years ago my beloved Louise put off every kind of 
earthly raiment on this very day when I have just 
put off this part of mine. This trifling coincidence 
is delightful to me. But how much more delight- 
ful is the glorious prospect of one day meeting with 
those we so tenderly love around the throne of the 
Lamb ! Oh ! what grace there is in that rich trea- 
sury of graces which flows down to us from the love 
of Christ ! What a subject for praise and thanks- 
giving, to all eternity, is here presented to our souls. 
My dear Louis/'* he said to me, gently pressing my 
hand, to be united for ever ! We shall be united 
for ever 

The 13th. — ^^My dear children, look upon those 
days as your happiest days when you have spoken 
with most love of Christ.^^ 

The 14th. — ^'Perhaps some persons, in speaking 
of me, might say, ' His conflict is much protracted ; 
for his own sake we ought to desire that it may 
soon cease. ^ But I can declare that this is not the 
case with myself ; indeed it is not. My poor mise- 
rable heart still needs to be cleansed from many 
earthly feelings. Many new desires must still be 
born there. Oh let me thank God, who is never 
weary of showing his goodness towards me, and 
who, by his wonderful power, has, during these 
last few days, caused some of these new desires to 
spring up within me. If you could but know 



He means his nephew, Louis VuUiemin. 



128 



THE LIFE OF THE 



what a new and real light the approach of eternal 
glory throws into the darkest and most hidden cor- |J| 

ners of our hearts ! If, in order to prepare me ' 

for a heavenly inheritance, bought with the price 
of his most precious blood, my Saviour should see 
fit to prolong my sufferings ; if even he should think 
it necessary to call me to a still severer conflict, I 
should bless him from the bottom of my heart, per- 
suaded that it would be gain — yes, that it would be 
all gain to me 

The 15th. — "There are two things for which the 
minister of Christ can never sufficiently pray every 
day of his life ; one is, an ever-growing persuasion 
of all that Christ is to us, so that he may be able 
to speak of it to others with more and more earn- 
estness; the other is, an ever-increasing longing 
for the salvation of the souls committed to his 
charge. I beg you will carry these words to M. de 
Charriere,^ as the legacy which my heart leaves to 
his heart On this day his eyes lost the power of 
reading. 

The 16th. — ^^It is sickness which renders us a 
little less ungrateful. In discovering to us our 
unworthiness, (I speak of those who live by faith,) 
it teaches us to feel more than ever that every 
thing from the Lord is of grace. 

The 17th. — "Every day teaches me to bless 
Him, and it is sweet indeed to bless 

The 18th. — When he knew that from every 
quarter persons sent to us to inquire about him, 
and that we had likewise a great number of letters 



* His assistant in the ministry since my brother's 
health had prevented his continuing as such. 



REY. F. A. A. GONTHIER. 



129 



to answer^ lie went so far as to apologize for tlie 
trouble he thus occasioned. This grieved us, and 
I entreated him not to speak so again. Well/^ 
he answered^ ^^I retract what I have said. You 
cannot be near to attend me on my sick-bed as your 
heart w-ould desire ; my state will not allow of 
this : the letters you write, therefore, shall stand 
I in place of your attendance upon me. Look upon 
'j them as such, and forget what I said.^^ 
i The 19th. — During this day his prayers were 
I particularly offered up for the Classe, or Synod, 
i which was to assemble the next day ; for each of 
his colleagues, and for the rapid spread of the gos- 
pel in their parishes. 
I The 20th, he said to us — ^^We do not reflect 
enough upon the holiness of Grod. If we could 
bring before ourselves his absolute hatred of all 
kind of sin, of all defilement, however impercepti- 
' ble to human eyes, of every secret feeling of impa- 
tience or self-love, of every light word spoken, or 
hasty judgment formed against our brother — with 
what earnestness we should beseech the Lord to put 
away from us even the appearance of evil, and 
how powerfully such an habitual consciousness 
would act towards the advancement of our own 
sanctification 

The 21st. — To love perfectly is heaven : to 
love even imperfectly is a foretaste of heaven.^'* 
j! The 22d.— If I could speak, it would be to tell 
you of the wonderful goodness of God.^^ 



* Aimer, c'est le ciel ; aimer un peu moins impar- 
faitement, c'est un avantgout du ciel." These few words 
are engraved upon the stone which covers the mortal re- 
mains of M. Gonthier. 



130 



THE LIFE OF THE 



The 23d. — At the commencement of every day 
let us say to ourselves, Here is a day which God 
gives me to do his will, and not my own ; I shall 
be happy indeed if, at the end of it, I may be able 
to say that, with the help of his grace, frequently 
prayed for, I have not wandered very far from his 
blessed and most holy ways/^ 

The 24th, his weakness and emaciation had 
reached the last stage. What he wished to say, 
he had not sufficient strength to finish. It is no 
longer permitted me to speak even those few words 

to you, which were so delightful to me Grod 

wishes to establish me in my own nothingness. 
Let us glorify Him for his wisdom.'^ 

The 25th. — He could only just pronounce these 
words, ^^G-od is good.'^ In the evening I asked 
him to allow me, as the sweet and sacred privilege 
of a son, to perform some little services for his 
comfort, and he consented. 

The 26th arrived. He thought in the morning 
that he could perceive symptoms in himself which 
were the forerunners of his departure. He asked 
to see a medical man. You know,^^ he said to 
him, " that the Christian does not fear the day of 
his death ; it is a festival day to him. Will you 
kindly tell me, therefore, if you think my hour is 
at hand The answer he received was this, 
Perhaps it may be to-day — perhaps to-morrow.^' 
At these words tears of joy and thanksgiving flowed 
from his eyes. Every feature wore the expression 
of gratitude towards God. He sent for us. ^^My 
children,'^ he said, ^'^I bless you for all your 
goodness to me — I bless you and your dear chil- 
dren. We remained by his bedside during the 



REV. F. A. A. GONTHIER. 131 

whole of this day, for he lived through it ; and 
our colleagues in the ministry spent part of it 
with us. 

He had not been able to take nourishment for 
|| some time. A small sponge placed near him 
Ij served to moisten his lips at intervals, and to con- 
11 vey a few drops of wine and water into his mouth, 
il Every now and then he just pronounced the single 
i| name of Jesus'^ with a tone of assured hope — ■ 
li that all-powerful name, which was to him a shelter 
I and defence — that name of peace, which was all- 
|| sufficient for him — that sure refuge, which never 
failed him for an instant ! In pronouncing it, he 
tried to raise his hand, and point upwards, his 
j countenance beaming with heavenly joy. After 
j twelve o'clock he was no longer able to swallow 
j the few drops of wine and water with which his 
' throat had been moistened. There is now one 
tie less to detain me,'' he said. His colleague, 
Mr. Dupraz, read a few verses from the Scriptures, 
and prayed near his bed : the dying man blessed 
him with much affection. Jesus! Jesus!'' did 
he still repeat with an expression of adoring love 
and joy. He frequently also unclosed his eyes, to 
fix them upon us with a look of tender affection, 
at the same time lifting up his hand and pointing 
towards heaven, to recall to our minds the place of 
our meeting again. During the night he begged 
us to go and take some repose; he repeated his 
wish, and the third time insisted upon our doing 
so. Fanchette remained for some time alone with- 
him. When we returned, he had still sufficient 
strength to press our hands. Then came the last 
struggle — there was no terror, no agony. The 



132 



THE LIFE OF THE 



spirit was in peace ; but^ stilly that the body suffered, 
the heavy drops on his forehead told us too plainly. 
At length, towards six o^ clock, he fixed his eyes 
upon us for the last time, and they closed no more; 
the heavy death-sweat became of icy coldness; we 
lifted up our hearts to God in prayer. 

''Seryant of God, well done ! 
Rest from thy loved employ; 
The battle fought, the victory won, 
Enter thy Master's joy !" 



We must not conclude without an answer to 
those persons who have asked us to make known 
to them the contents of our dear uncle's will. He 
restores to the family of his mother-in-law every 
thing that came to him with his wife. His poor 
relations are not forgotten. Some few legacies are 
bequeathed to funds for the use of the poor; others 
to some Christian societies. His two nephews are 
his heirs. He concludes his testament with an 
emotion which he finds it difficult to repress, in 
bearing testimony to the deep affection he felt for 
us, and by throwing himself in thought at the 
foot of the cross of Christ, embracing it as his 
only hope of salvation. It has caused some sur- 
prise to find how little he had to leave. He pos- 
sessed about two hundred dollars a year of his own, 
and received thirteen hundred and eighty francs'^ 
as his salary, which sum he about shared with his 



Thirteen hundred and eighty Swiss francs are equal 
to rather more than four hundred dollars. 



KEY. F. A. A. GONTHIER. 



133 



suffragan. He miglit have been thought rich ; but 
he had two sources from which he drew the sup- 
plies of that liberality in which he indulged : one 
was the produce of his works^ which he looked 
upon as a sacred deposit to be entirely employed 
in deeds of Christian love; the other was his per- 
fect system of order. His house was like his 
heart. The desire of perfection was carried into 
its minutest details. There was an inventory of 
every thing, and every thing had its proper place. 
He noted down all his expenses, however triflings 
even till the day before his death. Every month, 
what was written down was classed, balanced and 
adjusted carefully. It was the order and economy 
of charity that desired to have sufficient to bring 
the costly box of ointment to the feet of Jesus. 



Our first thought on laying down the Life of 
M. Gronthier, might be — Ah ! here, indeed, is an 
instance of the melancholy fact, that man is 
born unto trouble, as the sparks fly upward but 
we must go into the sanctuary of Grod, and lift 
up our hands towards his holy oracle, if we would 
understand the life of man on earth, and the 
dealings of the Creator with him. Then ever}^ 
thing wears at once a new aspect. That which 
seemed a bounded life, with no horizon beyond 
the mound of the grave, becomes at once the 
pilgrimage of an immortal being whose rest is 
not here, but who is going onward to the Land 
of Promise. He to whom we looked in our un- 
scriptural ignorance, only as God the Creator, ap- 
12 



134 



THE LIFE OF THE 



pears to us in his revealed character as a covenant 
God, loving onr falien, guilty world ; a Father 
full of pitjj giving his Son to suffer for us as our 
Kedeemer, and to plead for us as our Mediator, and 
sending his Holy Spirit to make every returning 
sinner not only a subject of the new birth, but a 
child of adoption and grace. Then, though born 
to trouble, the trouble itself is made, by chastening 
love, that tribulation which worketh patience, and 
by which the child of suffering is made perfect, 
as he follows the Captain of his salvation to glory. 

The reader of the life of this Christian pastor, 
whose domestic afflictions were so peculiarly try- 
ing, may learn, therefore, that every trouble was 
only a means to an end, and that end the most 
glorious attainable. Amid the gloom, if his eye 
have a spiritual discernment, he may distinguish, 
even from the commencement of his chastening, 
the first faint gleam of that shining light, which 
^' shineth more and more unto the perfect day.^' 

To love (as we are told by those who knew 
him) seemed necessary to the very existence of 
M. Gonthier; but the love of the natural heart 
will entwine itself round any — every earthly ob- 
ject, in preference to Him who has the highest 
claim to our love; indeed, so high a claim, that 
the affection which we feel to our dearest human 
connections ought to be cold as hate, when put 
in competition with the love we owe to Him. One 
after another did such cherished earthly objects 
seek to occupy, almost as a shrine of idolatry, the 
heart of this child of God : but one after another, 
the wife, the child, the other beloved friends were 
Buccessively removed : he was not permitted by 



REY. F. A. A. GONTHIER. 



135 



Ms gracious Father to set his affections on any 
thing below. The purposes of God were at length 
accomplished, and He who is altogether lovely/' 
became ^^all and in alF' to this favoured disciple. 
His path was, indeed, that of tribulation; but 

all the paths of the Lord are mercy and truth 
unto such as keep his covenant/' 

M. Gonthier was a minister of the most high 
God, and he was highly honoured when thus 
taught by God himself, that the sphere of a min- 
ister is not merely within the pleasant circle of 
domestic life; that he has, in fact, an embassage 
committed to him of far greater importance than 
that which passes from the sovereign of the highest 
earthly empire ; that no responsibility is so tre- 
mendous as that of the pastor of Christ's flock. 
He must either feed the church of God, which 
He hath purchased with his own blood," or appear 
before the great Shepherd and Bishop of our souls, 
defiled with the blood of those who have perished 
through his neglect. 

But do we condemn the love of such a heart as 
that of M. Gonthier ? We are far from doing so ; 
we are well assured that the grace which at length 
made Christ Jesus the supreme object of his love^ 
enlarged the very capacity of loving in his heart ; 
ennobled, purified, and gave its own enduring 
character to the affection which he bore for every 
human being : and thus he learned to sorrow not 
as one who has no hope ; and thus he learned to 
look forward to his union in glory with those who 
were taken before him, when God himself shall 
wipe away all tears from their eyes. How touch- 
ingly is it recorded, that he lifted every morning 



136 



THE LIFE OF THE 



the covering from the embroidered screen which 
had been the work of his wife's hands^ and then 
turned to those passages in the word of Grod^ which 
assure the members of Christ that they shall meet 
around the throne of God and of the Lamb. 

The most careless reader might come to this con- 
clusion, after following this man of many sorrows 
through the course of his weary pilgrimage, — how 
much better it is to suffer than to sin ! How much 
better to suffer affliction as a child of Grod, than to 
be celebrated among the wise, or the mighty, or the 
noble of this vain world ! We all know from com- 
mon observation, how many a gifted favourite of the 
world has closed his splendid career in darkness and 
in crime. It is, therefore, a profitable study to con- 
sider the unnoticed course of such a person as this 
lowly minister of the gospel, and to observe how the 
chastisements of his heavenly Father have yielded 
the peaceable fruits of righteousness ; how death 
has been disarmed of its sting, and he hath been 
made more than a conqueror, through Him that 
loved him, over all the enemies of his salvation. 

There is no fiction here. These are the ac- 
tual sufferings in the real life of a fellow-crea- 
ture. Let the thoughtless man, who repines in the 
midst of health and worldly comforts, think of 
the trials of this suffering saint, and humble him- 
self before God for his own churlish ingratitude. 
Let the minister of the gospel, with strong health 
and unimpaired faculties, who may be disposed to 
look upon the nervous maladies of this Christian 
pastor with that pity which is akin to contempt — let 
him blush to recall how much more was accom- 
plished in weakness and infirmity than he himself. 



REV. F. A. A. GONTHIER. 137 

'l perhaps, has even attempted. And let all consider, 
that it was not the religion of this child of afflic- 
tion that caused his suffering ; it was his only 
solace, and, to God's glory be it recorded, he found 
it to be all-sufficient. 

One thing is inexpressibly beautiful in the ac- 
count before us — the love of this follower of Christ 
J esus for his Master's name ; even for the single 
expressive Name of Jesus ! When his nephew 
said to him, " Deprived as we are of the inter- 
ij change of words, there is one name which in itself 
expresses every thing we could desire to say to each 
other,'' — " Ah ! yes," he exclaimed, with sudden 
and unexpected energy, when all else fades away, 
when we can no longer connect one idea with 
another, or scarcely dwell on any subject, the name 
of Jesus still remains to us; every thing may fail 
and vanish away, one object endures in imperishable 
I brightness. It is ever more and more to be desired, 
it is ^altogether lovely.' This, my beloved chil- 
dren, is the cross of Jesus Christ !" The same 
spirit seemed to breathe in his touching reply to the 
Roman Catholic missionary, when we read that, as 
they parted, the latter could not help assuming an 
air of authority, and exhorted his companion to 
avoid the perdition that awaited him, by placing 
himself under the shelter of the Papal church. 
"I think," relates the brother of the priest, who 
is himself the narrator of the circumstance, I 
' think I still see the Protestant pastor, and hear the 
\ penetrating tone of his voice, as he said, ^ Ah, sir ; 

if you did but know the happiness of belonging 
j entirely to Jesus Christ.'" Throughout his illness^ 
I to the very last, this simple faith, this single name. 

i 12* 



138 



THE LIFE OF THE 



preserved the power it possessed over him. The 
only word that trembled on his dying lips, but 
spoken always in a tone of perfect hope, was the 
one name of J Esus ; that which was the chief de- 
sire of his soul hung on the last accents of his 
expiring breath ; it was his watchword to those 
around him, it was peace and assurance to himself. 

There can be no doubt that 31. Gonthier was 
brought to that state of nervous disease, which at 
one time threatened to impair for ever even the 
faculties of his mind, by his extraordinary exer- 
tions ; and we leave to the reader to condemn or 
to excuse those exertions as he pleases. TTe do not 
say that he was not mistaken ; but it is his history, 
not his praises that has been set before the reader. 
It is indeed a lamentable mistake that an author 
makes, when he attempts to justify every part of 
the character and conduct of the man whose life 
he records. Such eulogies would probably be 
more painful to the subject of them, than to any 
other individual. There may be parts in the his- 
tory of this excellent man which we should for- 
bear to offer as a model for imitation to a youthful 
minister of the gospel ; but two things must never 
be forgotten — that his energies and exertions did 
not merely blaze forth and burn out, but from first 
to last he was a bm-ning and a shining light; his 
course was consistent to the very end : and, se- 
condly. That he had but one object before him, 
the glory of God, even of God manifest in the 
flesh and crucified for sinners. TTe must love, 
therefore, we must admire, even what we might not 
exactly imitate. 

Whatever he might have seemed during some 



REV. F. A. A. GONTHIER. 139 

seasons of his protracted course of trials, it is on 
his dying bed that every morbid symptom disap- 
pears; and that this meek and suffering disciple 
of our Lord encounters the " king of terrors/^ in 
the fulness of that superhuman strength which 
was literally made perfect in his lowest extremity 
of weakness. It is here that the dying, fainting 
child of mortality becomes more than a conqueror, 
simply through Him that loved him ; and rides on 
valiantly; so that we are almost led to exclaim, 
with the prophet of old time, My father, my 
' father, the chariot of Israel, and the horsemen 
thereof/^ Weakness and sinfulness, death and the 
agony of suffering, seem swallowed up in victory ; 
or become like the fearful shapes and shadows of 
darkness, as they fade away, when the sun comes 
forth in his splendour, and earth and heaven re- 
I joice in returning light. 



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